


you belong (to me)

by hermionesmydawg



Series: you belong (to me) [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Original Sinners - Tiffany Reisz
Genre: Aggressively bisexual Steve Rogers, Anal Sex, Biting, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Bucky Barnes is a little shit, Butt Plugs, Canon Compliant, Dom Steve Rogers, Face Slapping, Flogging, Gay Bucky Barnes, Griffin Fiske, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Michael Dimir, Natasha Romanoff is a part-time dominatrix, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Reference to unprepared anal sex, Restraints, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sam Wilson is the actual Best, Sex Club, Steve Rogers is a grumpy dom, Straight Sam Wilson, Sub Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, non-sexual choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 19:59:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7401823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermionesmydawg/pseuds/hermionesmydawg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hold on." Bucky lifted a finger and backed out of the doorway, returning a moment later with his cell phone. He snapped a photo of Steve, typed a few words, and then returned to his apple. "What the hell were you doing at a sex club last night?" </p><p>"Not having sex, if that's what you're wondering." An alert sounded from Steve's nightstand - a new Snapchat message. He rolled his eyes and unlocked his phone. Sam was always sending stupid Snapchats and frankly, Steve couldn't figure that goddamn app out and cursed whoever created that piece of shit. </p><p>The chat wasn't from Sam this time, however. It was a picture of himself, not looking guilty at all, with the caption "when your buddy catches you looking at porn."</p><p>OR</p><p>Two geriatric super-soldiers learn you're never too old to be kinky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you belong (to me)

**Author's Note:**

> This is listed as a crossover but it isn't really...more like I was chatting with some friends about how entertaining it would be if Steve and Bucky visited the BDSM club The 8th Circle from the Original Sinners series and somehow this happened. I also have to thank those same friends ([Hair Kink](http://maybemadmarie.tumblr.com) and [Vanilla af](http://homegrownoregano.tumblr.com)) for being an awesome beta and a beautiful nag, respectively. The characters of Griffin and Michael play a very tiny role in this but they belong to Tiffany Reisz. If you enjoy extremely well-written characters and kink, please check out her books, they are amazing.
> 
> Also, I don't own any of the characters or settings or a bondage bed (that would be awesome).
> 
> My darling friend Colette loves me and was inspired by the story to draw this picture of Bucky. (heart eyes)  
> 

"He's a virgin."

Steve balked, his throat releasing a horribly pained sound that could have been mistaken for either a cat choking on a hairball or one of Natasha's victims as they strained to breathe in their last few puffs of air. Seeing as how she was his date for the evening, he identified more with the victim.

"I'm not-" He hissed, his words broken by the petite girl with a pixie haircut and big brown eyes at the coat-check counter of this "club" Nat had tricked him into visiting with her. Brown Eyes fumbled with a white scarf, trying and failing to tie it around Steve's bicep. Chuckling nervously, she reached for another scarf, knotting them together so they would fit around his arm. His white badge of shame. "I'm not a virgin," he murmured, more to Brown Eyes than Natasha. The girl avoided his gaze, curtsying to them both before returning to her post.

Natasha rolled her eyes, sashaying towards the elevator at the end of the hall. "You are one here, Rogers."

"Is this like my scarlet letter?" Steve fingered the scarves, sliding them lower so they could possibly be hidden by the sleeve of his t-shirt. "It's more subtle than a glowing halo, I'll give you that." 

Natasha smirked silently on their elevator ride down. Oddly, that was the only direction this elevator could go. Steve hoped to hell he'd be able to escape whatever waited for him in this dungeon if need be. Not that he didn't trust her, but....it was Natasha after all.

The doors opened, revealing nothing but darkness. Even with Steve's perfect eyesight he struggled for a moment, following blindly behind his friend as she stepped into what turned out to be an _actual_ fucking dungeon. "Ribbons signify your status or preferences in this type of environment," she explained coolly. He latched onto her husky voice, letting it lead him toward the light up ahead. "White means you're a noob. You'll be left alone tonight, most likely. There are other colors - red, blue, black, brown, you get the picture."

What in the hell had he gotten himself into? "So blue is..." 

"Means you're in to edge play."

Thanks to his curiosity and the wonderful invention called the internet, Steve actually knew what "edge play" meant. Being Captain America didn't make him a prude, and he'd had a shit ton of catching up to do on all things sex related. But now he knew what kind of club she'd brought him to, and he had the sudden urge to strangle her. Apparently if she'd worn a blue scarf it would have been considered socially acceptable, if not pleasurable. 

With each step the pound of the music grew louder, rattling his nerves even more than they already were. A crowd of people were visible now, and he was close enough to view more tits and ass than he'd seen in his one hundred year life span. Nat remained unfazed, holding her head high and confident. Steve shouted over the noise, trying not to gape at a heavyset man wearing a diaper. "They didn't have places like this when I was growing up!" 

She smiled innocently. "Places like what?" 

"Sex clubs." 

"Ah." Nat weaved them through the crowd towards another elevator, stepping over a naked man with welts on his back resting on the floor as if it were his couch. "This isn't your average sex club." 

"Noticed." Steve avoided eye contact, nervously shoving his hands in his pockets. "We shouldn't be here. What if someone recognizes us?" 

"That won't be a problem." She pointed to a man tied spread eagle to a St. Andrews cross (Steve really shouldn't know what that is, and he's definitely not going to let on that he does). "Do you recognize him?" 

"There are very few people I recognize only by their bare asses," he answered dryly. 

"You should, he shows it off every time he opens his mouth," she said, smiling at her own joke. "That's the governor of New York. He's been a very bad boy, it seems."

"Jesus," Steve whispered, staring in shock as she pointed out a plethora of famous and infamous people in the sea of sexual promiscuity. 

"This is a safe place, Steve." A place where a man is literally being caned? Okay. "There are spoken rules and unspoken rules. One of the unspokens is that everyone's identity is safe and respected." 

They approached a large man in nothing but leather shorts and a thick black collar guarding the second elevator. Natasha slapped him hard across the face and he smiled, stepping aside to let her pass. Steve gulped. Just when he thought he'd started to figure this woman out, she goes and pulls this shit on him. 

The upper loft of the club appeared at first glance to be tamer than the sex pit below. A bar lined one side wall, but wasn't the main focus of the floor. This was where the patrons came to, Steve guessed, fellowship with their own kind. Tables filled a large part of the room, but only half of the people were actually seated in the simple black chairs; the other half resided on the floor, at the feet of their...well, Steve didn't know the exact terms to define these types of relationships. 

"You're handling this better than I expected," Natasha spoke directly in his ear, standing on her tiptoes.

 Just friends or not, Steve found himself unnerved by her close proximity. He clenched his jaw. "Is that why you brought me here? Just to gauge my reaction to naked people?" 

"Partly." She smiled. "But mostly because I thought a night away from James would do you some good." 

"Bucky," Steve corrected. 

"He has many names," Nat replied smoothly. Her eyes strayed from Steve's face then, glimmering in the dark at something behind him. "I'm here for five minutes and you've already hunted me down?"

A man nearly as tall and almost as muscular as Steve stepped into view. He had spiked black hair and a mischievous glint in his dark eyes that was a little unsettling. Power and strength oozed from his pores. All of these qualities should have made a person seem unlikable but somehow it just came off as charming. Normally instinct would have alerted Steve that they were being watched by Mr. Charming, but apparently the current setting knocked him a little off of his game. 

"Mistress Natasha," Charming addressed Nat, kissing first the back of her hand and then her palm. "You shouldn't be surprised. Word travels fast when you walk through the door with a gorgeous new pet at your side. Usually you make them crawl." 

What the... "Pet?" Steve asked, quirking his eyebrow. 

The man frowned, tilting his head as he eyed Steve up and down, finally settling on his eyes. When Steve held his steely gaze, he nodded his apology. "My mistake, sir." 

Natasha laughed. "Steve Rogers, meet Griffin Fiske. He manages the club. Fiske, Rogers." 

Griffin never took his eyes off of Steve as his mouth parted in awe. "Natasha, you brought Captain _fucking_ America to the 8th Circle?" 

So this place did have a name. That made it seem a little less shady, at least. "I'm as surprised as you are, Mr. Fiske." 

Natasha ignored the comment, looping her arm through Griffin's. Whatever she wanted to discuss with him clearly wasn't meant to be heard by Steve - she kept her voice low and head angled so he couldn't eavesdrop. Secrets don't make friends, but Nat was nothing if not filled with secrets. It was something Steve was used to by now. 

Not wishing to eavesdrop, he took the time to truly take in the atmosphere he'd been thrust into. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little intrigued by all of it. Not three feet from him, a woman lazily nudged at a man's crotch with her nose, like a cat begging to be petted. (Hmm, maybe that's what Griffin meant...but he was no one's pet.) A few tables over a half-naked man (pet, again?) licked the boots of what Steve presumed was his Mistress. 

He adjusted his pants, willing himself to not get a boner in public. Just because everybody else had one, didn't mean he should. But the longer he watched, the harder it became to tear his attention away. This place wasn't like the hokey scenes of dungeon masters and dominatrixes that littered cheap porno flicks - it was real, and intense as hell. There were men in normal street clothes, women in business suits, and - 

 _No._  

"Is that a priest?!" Steve blurted out. He crossed himself out of instinct, muttered "shit", then crossed himself again. 

"Jesus, Steve, don't stare," Natasha chided. 

Griffin smirked. "I think I see it, Nat." 

"Right?" 

"See what?" Steve asked. 

"Just needs some refining, but it's definitely there." 

"That's why we're here, Griff." 

Steve scowled at them both, his cheeks flushing. Call it a holdover from his days as the weak kid who never quite fit in, but he loathed being left out of a secret. He opened his mouth to let them have it, but Griffin didn't give him the chance. 

"If you'll excuse me, Captain, I have some pressing matters I need to attend to. It's been a pleasure to meet such a legend." Griffin bowed his head, and Steve actually believed him. Even overly confident smirky jerks could have childhood heroes, he reminded himself. "Mistress, lovely as always. Steve, until next time." 

 _Next time?_  

"Not impressed?" Natasha asked as Griffin strolled away. She was fishing, but he wasn't going to bite. 

"He called you Mistress."

"He's not the first. Won't be the last." 

"I'm not calling you Mistress." 

Natasha's eyes gleamed, like a cat with a bird in it's mouth. "I know you won't. But, a girl's gotta pay the bills somehow in between saving and destroying the government." 

If he'd had a drink he would have spewed it across the floor. Actually, that was what he needed. A stiff drink. Fuck science, he couldn't get drunk but he needed something, anything, to do with his hands. Holding up one finger to motion Nat to pause, Steve walked over to the bar, ordered a Bulleit neat, then calmly returned to his friend. "You work here?!" 

"Part time," she said, as if that made it better. Her fingers clasped a chain around her neck, where a shiny key dangled. "If you're good at something, you might as well get paid for it. I even have my own dungeon, wanna see it?" 

"No," Steve deadpanned. 

"It's really nice, not what you'd expect."

Great, now he was trying to figure out what he'd expect from Natasha's sex dungeon. Red leather. Knives. Unloaded guns. Medieval torture devices. "I expect nothing," Steve lied. "Please explain to me how this is not illegal." 

"Selling sex is illegal in New York. Selling pain, embarrassment, fear...perfectly legal. Some would even call what we do therapeutic," she answered pointedly. "It's not just dominatrixes. There a professional doms, professional subs. Sadists, masochists. Anything you might like." 

Steve blinked, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. Thank God this place was dark. "And what makes you think I would like any of this?" 

"Ты принадлежишь мне." Natasha slipped into her native tongue with a low growl, grabbing Steve by the front of his shirt to yank him down to her eye level. "Я заставлю тебя лизать твои слезы и сперму с пола, когда я сделал с вами." 

Meeting her steely gaze, Steve smirked. "The Russian dominatrix schtick is kinda cliche, isn't it?" 

"Hmm," she hummed, lowering her head and dropping to her knees. "Forgive me, Sir." 

He knew what point she was trying to make, and he didn't like it. Or more so, he didn't like that she actually had a point to make. Yes, he liked seeing her pliant and vulnerable, even if he didn't normally view her in a sexual way. Dammit. Against his better judgment, he placed a hand on the top of her head. "That's enough. Get up." 

"Yes, sir." Natasha smirked, jumping to her feet. "Face it, Rogers, you're a top. A Dom. A bossy pain in the ass. You're not happy unless you're in charge of something, and I'm tired of your miserable mopey shit. Retirement is supposed to be the highlight of your life, not an excuse to sit around in sweatpants dwelling on the glory days, back when people actually feared you." 

"I-," Steve started, but he had no rebuttal for her attack. Was she really suggesting what he thought she...that he belonged here with these people? Some would call them freaks. Was he a freak? He barely even had the skills to kiss properly, how the hell could he inspire someone to devote themselves to him in such a vulnerable way? No. She was wrong. "I think it's time to go home."

 

* * *

 

It'd been almost two years since Steve "retired." Twenty-three months since he watched his best friend (don't tell Sam) slip back into cryo sleep, fifteen months since he left the safety of Wakanda (and Bucky) to return to New York, and nine months since King T'Challa returned a trigger-free James Buchanan Barnes to his door step with a new vibranium arm and a shit-eating grin. 

Bucky had been "cured", but far from fixed. The process of removing trigger words from his brain had also erased some of the memories he'd been able to bring back in his two years of solitude. Sometimes that was a blessing, other times a curse. He couldn't hold on to his birthday, but also couldn't remember falling from the train in the Alps. He knew that he'd been tortured but couldn't remember the specifics anymore. He knew Steve, but sometimes... 

Seventy-five years was a long time to try to hold on to memories, even if he technically slept through most of it. Bucky sometimes put Steve on a pedestal, like he was still the skinny kid with too much heart and not enough common sense, just like when they were kids. Other times he could be a little shit that instigated arguments and tried his best to get under Steve's skin, like before the war. Those were the versions of his best friend that he knew and loved. They were easier than the other versions. Things would never be the same again, and Steve had come to terms with that. When they were younger, they were comfortable. They hugged, they fought, they even cried. And now Steve was too worried about boundaries and stability to do any of those things with him. 

Another quirk about new-Bucky - the world's most deadly (former) assassin had decided that tank tops, man buns, MMA, and yoga were a necessary addition to his new lifestyle. With little to keep him busy besides catching up on an entire lifetime that he'd missed, having physical outlets were good for him. He was starting to do charity work. He ran in the park. He sparred with Natasha and did yoga with Sam. It helped him adjust to being human. Sort of. 

So, it wasn't unusual for Steve to find his roommate sitting on the floor facing a large window upon his return from the club. His new left arm didn't make as much of a murderous impression as the old one, but still was the first thing he noticed as he took in the sight of his friend. Tank top, check. Ponytail, yep. Leggings? _Really?_ Steve quietly emptied his pockets into what Bucky called their "shit bowl" and strolled into his modest great room. The space had recently been filled with new leather furniture and soft pillows, yet Bucky usually chose to sit on the floor. Steve cleared his throat before sidling up and sitting next to him. "Meditating?" 

"Just enjoying the view," Bucky answered. "Have fun with the Widow?" 

Steve sighed. "She has a name." 

"She has many names," Bucky countered, the reflection of his lips moving catching Steve's attention. He was "enjoying the view" of Brooklyn with his eyes closed. Brooklyn wasn't much to look at anyway, but it was home. 

"What did you do tonight?" Steve asked, changing the subject. 

Bucky shrugged. "Ate. Watched Lethal Weapon with Sam. My new catchphrase is now 'I'm too old for this shit.' It's funny because it's true." 

"You've been spending too much time with Sam." 

"Any time spent with Sam is too much," Bucky said. "You didn't answer my question." 

"What question?"

Bucky repeated himself slowly. "Did you have fun?" 

"Oh. Yeah. Sure." Fidgeting with the hem of his pants, Steve tried to clear his mind of exactly how much he'd enjoyed himself. He had told himself to walk away and sleep it off, all the while cursing Natasha for taking him to such a sinful slice of heaven in the first place. Heaven? No. Hell. 

"Where did you go?" 

Images flashed through Steve's mind - whips, floggers, bondage devices...things he feared would spark horrific memories for his friend. Better to not go into detail, probably. "Just some underground club. You wouldn't have liked it." 

Bucky frowned, raising his chin. "How do you know what I do or don't like?" 

"I've known you for ninety years." 

Bucky huffed. 

"Well. On and off."

Bucky huffed again. "You know nothing, Steve Rogers." 

"You watch too much TV." 

"You recommended that show!" 

"Maybe you need to get out more..." Steve choked on his words as soon as he said them. Keeping Bucky mostly to himself, at home, gave him a sense of peace. Instead of worrying non-stop about his friend, he only worried a quarter of the time. Thirty percent of the time, tops. 

"Out, you say?" Bucky pursed his lips. "Maybe to this underground fight club that you and Romanoff visited?" 

"It's not a fight club." Well. Not technically.

"I wanna join. I already know the rules. You don't talk about fight club." 

"There is no fight club, and besides, no one would let you join their fight club with that," Steve groaned, pointing to Bucky's new vibranium arm. God, he was tired and horny and Bucky could be an annoying.... _nope_. No complaints. He had Bucky, which felt like a dream he could wake up from at any point in time but has been lucky enough to continue living. No complaining. 

"It's a book club, isn't it? Really, Steve? Pride and Prejudice again?" 

Now _he_ was getting too old for this shit. What was it Natasha had said to him in Russian? It'd sounded mean as hell. Maybe that would make Bucky shut up. He could only remember the beginning, something like.. "Ty prinadlezhish' mne," he said, ashamed at his attempt as soon as the words left his mouth. His Russian was shit. He'd probably said something to the effect of "eat my goat." 

The temporary lack of confidence showed, with the words coming out more as a question than a snarl. Still, Bucky twisted his head to peer at Steve, opening his eyes for the first time since the conversation had begun. He stared long and hard, sending a hot flush straight to Steve's cheeks. The look on Bucky's face was completely unreadable. The ability to give that glare, the scary as fuck assassin look, would probably always remain with him. Steve hated it. He also kind of liked it. 

So he'd definitely said it wrong. Or so he thought. The glare transformed into a small smirk, and just like that he was one hundred percent Bucky Barnes again. Well, if the old Bucky had ever considered a ponytail to be a good fashion choice, anyway. Bucky winked. "You promise?" 

"Um, uh," Steve stammered. "Yes?" 

"You have no idea what you said, do you?" 

"That obvious, huh?" Steve chuckled. "Care to translate?" 

"Nope. But you shouldn't make promises you can't keep," Bucky joked. Though maybe it wasn't a joke. Sometimes the switch between the different Buck-emotions (trademark pending) happened so quickly that Steve would still be treating him like the little shit he could be, even though the spunk had drained itself from his body. This...all of it, was a learning process. 

"Okay, fine. It was a sex club. I went to a sex club," Steve admitted guiltily, transferring the awkward energy back to himself. "Happy?"

Bucky smiled. "Maybe. I'm still working on remembering the happy."

His face fell, Steve _knew_ his face fell, because he could bury emotions and words all day long but his stupid fucking All-American face just couldn't keep up appearances long enough to say the right thing to his friend. Or say anything. Steve swallowed down that funny feeling he couldn't put a name to and lifted his hand. They didn't touch often (he didn't know why), but sometimes he couldn't stop himself. His hand landed on Bucky's leg, squeezing his knee. "We'll get there, pal." 

Silent and still for a minute, Bucky seemed to gather himself before nodding. "Don't get sappy on me. I expect to hear all about this sex club tomorrow." 

Annoying pain in the ass. At least some things never change.

 

* * *

 

Basically, everything Steve Rogers knows about sex, he learned from the internet. 

The USO girls showed him how to kiss. Peggy and Bucky, in their own different ways, taught him about love. War, such an important part of his life that it almost counted as a person, made him understand what it meant to need. He'd been at war for years, and now she was gone. The tour girls were gone. Peggy was gone. 

A part of Bucky remained, but Steve sure as hell didn't plan on asking him kinky sex questions. 

Per Steve's usual morning routine, he dutifully checked his work email and delegated a new clean-up assignment to Wanda (because Steve Rogers couldn't just retire, no, he had to tell the UN to kiss his ass by founding a nonprofit organization to help clean up and rebuild areas affected by devastation, natural or man-made). With that out of the way, he could sprawl in bed with his coffee and tablet and begin his research. 

Forget the fact that researching sex and kink made him a giant fucking nerd. Or, giant non-fucking nerd. 

Steve opened the browser on his tablet and typed B D S M. He paused, adding "rules" at the end of BDSM. Vigilante my ass, he thought. Steve Rogers could follow the rules any time he damn well pleased. 

Most of the search results pertained Submissive's guide to this, Submissive's Rules, contracts...Could this be so serious that people needed contracts? Was there a union too? Steve scrolled through search results, looking for legitimate answers to his...personal preference. Because yes, Natasha was right. He liked to be in charge, and if he thought about - which, seemingly, he couldn't stop doing - he'd like to have someone that would submit to him. Not that it would be easy. He couldn't even find someone suitable to have vanilla sex with him. 

Finally he found a question and answer page that gave him a little more information on what he considered "rules." Not the 8th Circle's unspoken ones, but rules that set boundaries. This had to involve an indescribable amount of trust for all parties involved. 

Steve learned about the difference between Safe, Sane, and Consensual and Risk Awareness Consensual Kink. The latter, being the riskier of the two, sounded like more fun. Maybe that could be blamed on the serum, or maybe not. Even the ninety pound Steve never backed down from a challenge, and God knows he'd liked to get himself into trouble. 

Safe words, limits, blood play, consensual non-consent...Steve read for an hour, all the while wondering how he'd let his brain so deep in this after one fucking visit to a kink club. He chastised himself, then continued reading about collars, and ownership, and wow this shit was legitimately more intense than just whips and chains... 

"Hey Steve, two things..." The door to Steve's bedroom flew open and he jerked so hard the tablet flipped in his hands, somersaulting through the air in slow motion. He fumbled, catching it right before it bounced on the mattress. When he looked up, Bucky stared down at him through narrowed eyes, slowly taking a bite of the apple in his hand. 

"I guess you forgot how to knock," Steve huffed, placing the tablet on his nightstand. "Whatcha need, Buck?" 

"Hold on." Bucky lifted a finger and backed out of the doorway, returning a moment later with his cell phone. He snapped a photo of Steve, typed a few words, and then returned to his apple. "Three things, actually. First, what the fuck is a Honeycrisp apple? What happened to just red apples?" 

Steve sighed. "There's lots of kinds of apples. And fruit, in general. Most of it is different now, sorry." 

Bucky shrugged, taking another bite. "Don't apologize, they're fucking great. Question two, what the hell were you doing at a sex club last night?" 

"Not having sex, if that's what you're wondering." An alert sounded from Steve's nightstand - a new Snapchat message. He rolled his eyes and unlocked his phone. Sam was always sending stupid Snapchats and frankly, Steve couldn't figure that goddamn app out and cursed whoever created that piece of shit. 

The chat wasn't from Sam this time, however. It was a picture of himself, not looking guilty _at all_ , with the caption "when your buddy catches you looking at porn." 

"You can't work the fucking toaster but you know how to use Snapchat?" Steve growled. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. "What the fuck is a bagel setting? What makes them more special than the others?" 

"I-" Steve started and paused, taking a deep breath. God, he loved the man but sometimes he really just wanted to slap him. "I was reading. Not looking at porn." 

Sam sent a group text message - "lol that shit's so wrong, watch yer back jb" 

Steve glared at Bucky. "Thought you and Sam hated each other." 

"We do. But really, it's barely eight in the morning and you're already looking at porn, what the hell-" 

"I already said-" 

Bucky crunched loudly into his apple, pointing to Steve's crotch. "Then why you gotta boner?" He asked with his mouth full. 

Steve glared. 

Bucky chewed. 

"It's okay, Steve," Bucky finally said, plopping in the bed. "I definitely watch porn, too. It's like, the second best thing about the internet." 

Arguing over the contents of his morning search history seemed pointless, so Steve played along. "So what's the best thing about it?" 

After chunking his apple core in Steve's trash can, Bucky tucked his arms around his midsection. "Stupid cat videos. Obviously." 

No argument there, but Steve remained on the defensive. "Note to self - never look at your internet search history." 

"You might learn something if you did."

"I'm learning plenty on my own, thanks." 

"About me, I mean." Bucky held himself tighter. His body seemed to have issues with temperature regulation now, most likely from the years of repeated freeze/thaw cycles. Some days he would sweat like crazy, others he could never seem to warm up. Steve went to his closet and pulled out a blanket, wrapping it around his friend's shoulders. Bucky murmured a thank you while Steve climbed uncomfortably back on his own bed. 

In all the time that Bucky has been "back" with him, they'd never discussed personal - intimate - details with each other. Steve had little time for intimacy until recently, and Bucky just wasn't the same skirt chaser he'd been as a teenager. It was perplexing at times, how Steve could look at the face he knew like the back of his hand but barely know the being that owned it. Like living with a stranger that knew him better than anyone else in the world. 

"What?" Bucky frowned. 

"Nothing, I-" Steve chuckled. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think I'm surprised that you watch porn? I shouldn't be, you live on the internet and God knows you used to jerk it all the time when we used to live together-" 

"You were supposed to be sleeping," Bucky grumbled. 

"A human can only sleep so much," Steve teased. "But my point is. I don't really have a point I guess. But I'm happy that...you are doing...that. I think." 

Bucky nodded as if that nonsensical statement made perfect sense. "You know, I didn't think about it for seventy-two years. Sex. Not once. Not even when I was sort of free from them. It happened more than once." He laughed, as if escaping a lifetime or torture was comical. "I got loose one time in New York, did you know that?" 

"I read that." 

"First thing I thought of was food," Bucky continued. "I ate a slice of pizza in two seconds, barfed it up, then ate another one. Sandwiches, burgers, hot dogs, man, hot dogs. I was so sick. Probably gained at least five pounds before they found me and dragged me back." 

Steve didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the story so he simply smiled at the image of a Winter Soldier-ized Bucky stuffing his face, ketchup and mustard covering his leather vest instead of blood. He wondered if along with everything else, Hydra had deprogrammed the part of him that could be weakened by love, or lust, or friendship. "So, it came back with the procedure, then?" 

"One day in therapy, popped a stiffy so hard it gave me a stomachache." Bucky snorted. "Something the doctor said triggered a very, uh, powerful memory. I apologized but she was very understanding." 

"It took me a little while, after the ice," Steve confessed. "Modern clothing helped. On others, not myself." 

"Jeans are a beautiful thing." 

"Yes!" 

"So, you fucked a girl yet?" Bucky blurted out like he'd just been making chitchat in order to get to the juicy details he desired.

Were they really talking about this? They were talking about this. Steve would finally have to quit handling Bucky with little kid gloves. Okay. He could do this. "Well, there was this one time where...okay, but it's hard to find someone with...no." 

"No?" Bucky seemed surprised. "Not even Agent Carter?" 

"Which one?" Steve asked, cringing slightly. 

"What do you mean which one? Peggy, _guy_ , the one you were crazy in love with? Please tell me...no. Steve. Come on." 

Steve bit the inside of his cheek. "Remember Sharon, the blonde that got our supplies back in Germany?"

"Awkward kiss gal, yes, I remember." 

"It wasn't awkward. You're awkward." Steve sighed. "She's Peggy's niece. Great niece, really. Yeah." 

Bucky blinked and turned on the Soldier's stare. "What the fuck, Steve. What. The. _Fuck_."

"Great niece. That's a lot of degrees of separation." The stare hardened. "I don't see how you can judge, you kissed your own cousin." 

"We were eight, asshole." 

"I don't care, this is Brooklyn, not the Appalachians." 

"Oh my God," Bucky choked out before falling flat on his face in a fit of laughter, covering his shaking body with the blanket. "I can't believe you remember that," a muffled voice spoke from under the expanse of fleece.

God, this felt good. Almost comfortable. Stupid little talks like this did more to repair their relationship than their mock therapy sessions with Sam or Bucky's real therapy with Dr. Castillo. Which, Steve remembered, it was Friday and Bucky had to leave to go see her soon. He patted Bucky's blanketed back. "You know that wasn't almost a century ago for me. Even the war...to me that was only seven years ago."

Bucky poked his head out, a mess of brown hair covering his eyes. "Yeah maybe, but you don't...nevermind." 

"I don't what?" Steve asked. 

"Nothing, I got confused."

"Liar."

Bucky sighed. "You were frozen for what, sixty something years? It would make sense if you lost a few memories yourself over that time. Maybe the ones you wanted to forget."

Steve's ears grew hot with indignation. "I can close my eyes and see you falling from that train, I know that I almost let go myself, like I thought I could fly and catch you. I probably should have. If there was anything I'd want to fucking forget, it would be that."

"I remember the _war_ , Steve," Bucky said softly, twisting his lips. "It wasn't just one day, or ten days, or however long it took after that for you to crash a fucking plane into the Arctic." 

"Bucky, I don't want-"

"To argue about it?" Bucky raised an eyebrow. He uncurled himself from the blanket and stood up, folding it neatly. "I gotta go anyway, have an appointment this morning."

And like that, the moment was gone. "Right. You want me to go with you?"

"I know my way around, I'll be fine. Probably catch lunch with Natasha in the city. I'll catch you later."

"Yeah. Later," Steve murmured to the disappearing figure. He hadn't wanted to argue, true, but he didn't even get the chance to explain himself.

Just because he'd tried to forget the war, didn't mean he actually _had_.

 

* * *

 

It's pretty much a Sunday ritual - brunch or late lunch with Sam, the time dependent upon whether or not Sam goes to church that day or not. Today was a late lunch day at the same cafe that got smashed to pieces during the attack on New York. Its restoration was one of the first projects Steve and Sam took on after forming BARTON (if anyone asked, that definitely didn't stand for Boss Ass Restoration Team of Nobodies. Clint, obviously, named it before disappearing again. Steve insisted they're not nobodies but whatever.) 

Sam rattled off numbers and locations in between bites of what appeared to be a rather disappointing grilled chicken salad with quinoa and watermelon in it. Some modern food combinations made no sense. Why ruin a good piece of chicken with fruit? What is with everyone's obsession with fruit?

"You still with me Steve?"

Steve blinked. "Yeah, anonymous donation. Probably Tony."

"That was five minutes ago. I was complaining about how you keep managing to cancel our workouts. Some of us are just human, gotta work to stay sharp. What's got you distracted? Don't say Bucky." 

"It's not Bucky, it's your lunch." 

"Yeah, and again, some of us have to watch our weight now that we're not fighting cyborgs and shit," Sam said, rubbing his belly. "You're actually getting skinnier. You want another burger? Cheesecake, something?" 

Steve gave Sam a half smile. The man could be such a mother hen at times. "I'm fine. And maybe Bucky is on my mind. Just a little bit." 

"I'm shocked. Honestly."

"He's just been acting weird lately."

"He's always weird, Cap." Sam gave his lunch a disgusted look and crossed his arms over his chest. "What did he do, try to kill you?"

"No."

"Watch you while you slept?"

"Not...that I know of."

"Use up all the toilet paper and not replace the roll?"

Steve furrowed his brow. "Yes, actually."

"He does that shit at my house, too. Not weird." Sam waved it off. "So what is it then?"

Steve chose his words carefully. "He implied that I didn't remember something. And I do remember, I have just ignored it."

Sam quirked an eyebrow, waiting for further explanation that never came. "Yeah, I definitely love that game where I have to read your mind when you're being vague as fuck."

Maybe cheesecake wouldn't be such a bad idea. He signaled to their server and pointed to the dessert display case. "You want a piece of cheesecake, Sam?"

"No, I'm lactose and bullshit intolerant."

"One cheesecake?" Steve mouthed before returning his attention to Sam. "Bullshit? Really?" 

Sam shrugged. "I just call it like I see it. I'm not here to judge your strange relationship with a one hundred year old man, but I am available to listen and give advice when needed. Provided you, ya know, actually _talk_." 

A slice of cheesecake appeared on the table but Steve didn't touch it, just stared at it. "You were in combat, Sam. You know that no one comes back the same as they were before, if they make it back at all."

"Bucky Barnes died in that war." Sam spoke gently. Not in body but in mind, he meant. He has said those words to Steve a hundred times. Steve Rogers the artist, the Brooklyn punk, the asthmatic - he died too. Nothing can bring them back now. 

Steve took a large bite of cheesecake - pretty good, actually - and confessed something that wasn't in the history books or museum exhibits. "Bucky was already dying before I even got there."

Per Sam's usual, he silently waited for more. "You know the story. Azzano, Hydra, the Howling Commandos. And I don't know if being captured changed the other Commandos or not because I didn't know them before, but it changed Bucky. He knew it, too. Steady and cool during a mission, but paranoid and almost violent when there was nothing but his own mind to attack."

Steve had long since tried to forget how troubled his best friend had become, but he could still remember him seeking him out in a panic almost every night, when the "normal" soldiers slept and took turns on watch. Bucky didn't sleep anymore, and Steve didn't either for that matter.

 

_They did something to me, Steve, they put something in me._

_I should be dead, you don't know the things they did, I should be dead, what if I can't die?_

_I'm not safe, none of you are safe. They're going to come for me, they'll get me back, I know it. He said, he said..._

 

_They are in my head, Steve. Get them out of my head or I swear to God I will blow my goddamn-_

 

"You okay, Cap?" 

Steve blinked. Without realizing it, he'd gotten lost in his memories. And, apparently, bent his fork in half. "He thought Hydra was after him, thought they were in his head. I don't want to talk about that with him now because he was right, and at the time I just did whatever I could do to keep him calm and focused. I wasn't just his best friend, I was their leader. Everyone became my responsibility in one way or another, but him most of all." 

"It's not always easy to be in charge."

"It is easy for me, usually. It's natural," Steve said. He should finish his dessert, but no. "But my emotions and reactions tend to be a little stronger when it comes to Bucky."

"No shit," Sam deadpanned. "Hadn't noticed."

"Anyway." Steve cleared his throat. "My point is that he thinks I've forgotten what he, we, went through in Europe and I don't know...maybe it would be better to keep pretending." 

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Didn't you once say you were always honest?"

"I lied on enlistment papers, I disobeyed orders and went into enemy territory without an army..."

"Okay, I get it."

"Broke your ass out of a raft prison..."

"Yes, thank you for that." Sam scooted a piece of chicken around on his plate with no intent to actually eat it. "You can't shelter him forever, Steve. I don't walk on eggshells around him, I tell him straight up what an asshole he is and he appreciates that. You of all people know how hard it is to make yourself fit into a world where you don't belong. And you're not even a physically and socially impaired ex-assassin. If he brought it up, he wants to talk about it. Give the man what he wants. And don't tell him I took his side on this."

Give the man what he wants? Steve cringed. The problem, of course, was that he didn't actually know what Bucky wanted. Or even what he himself wanted. When Sam had asked him several years ago what made him happy, he didn't have an answer. Really, he was still looking for the answer to that question. 

"Why do I feel like I'm missing something?" Sam asked, stroking the hairs on his chin.

"Because you're smart."

"A compliment? But it's not even my birthday." Sam smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "So, what? Good initiative, bad judgment?"

"Something like that." 

"What did you do?" Sam asked cautiously.

Steve laughed, and shook his head, and looked at his fork and his dessert and the paper napkin soaking up the condensation from his glass of water. "I gave the man what he wanted."

"Finally, something that makes some _goddamn_ sense." Sam's lips curled, expressing judgment and a general sense of "oh hell no" like only Samuel Wilson could do. He pushed his lunch to the side and signaled their server. "Fuck this shit. Can I get some pie, please?! Rhubarb? Thanks." 

Steve sighed. They were going to be here a while. "Add a cup of coffee to that, too."

 

* * *

 

It would be a lie if Steve didn't admit he felt a small sense of relief when he got a text from Natasha saying "kidnapped james for the day. he says don't wait up." 

While still in the city after his slightly uncomfortable and very embarrassing lunch date with Sam where he'd been read the riot act for over an hour and a whole rhubarb pie, Steve decided to take a walk before heading to the subway station.

_No, I won't go into detail._

_Yes, I know it was wrong in more ways than the fact that I was his superior and they were at fucking war._

_Oh my God, this isn't why I tried to let him kill me or why I looked for him for years and yes thank you for all of your help Sam but it is not like that, I swear._

Things could be complicated, dammit, especially when dealing with enhanced superhumans who should for all intents and purposes be dead, not currently sharing a brownstone in Brooklyn. _Platonically_ sharing a brownstone. 

When Bucky had "died", Steve mourned. He accepted it and turned his despair into rage, even finding some peace with it before he plunged himself into the ice. At least they couldn't hurt Bucky again, like he'd feared. Bucky was free.

Steve hated himself now for his foolish naivety.

He stopped on his walk at Avengers Tower, staring towards the top of the monstrosity. The world seemed a much quieter place now that he kept his distance from Stark and SHIELD. That wasn't a bad thing. 

He walked, and walked, and walked for hours. People recognized him but said nothing. It was kind of nice, actually.

Somehow - mostly on accident - Steve wound up in a familiar area of town. Underground for the guest entrance. No ribbon tonight, thank you. Darkness, darkness, oh look the mayor is here tonight. "What's the password?" Apparently for him, a steely glare was enough. Up the elevator, get a drink, step to the rails, and watch.

"Back so soon? And unsupervised, it seems."

Steve smiled, looking into his drink instead of turning around. "Couldn't help myself, you just have such a lovely establishment here, Mr. Fiske."

"Lovely is the last thing I'd call this place. Cozy, maybe. And Captain, call me Griffin." He stepped to the rail beside Steve. "Please tell me that's what you prefer to be called in bed. It'd be a fucking waste if you didn't."

Eh, Steve was feeling pretty bold (and unsupervised). He winked at Griffin. "Only one way to find out."

That garnered a goofy grin from the 8th Circle's manager. "That's a hell of an offer, but one, I'm married." He wiggled his left hand to show off a tattoo on his ring finger. "Two, I don't sub unless it is for one special lady who is impossible to refuse. And three, for fuck's sake, _don't tempt me_." 

They shared a comfortable laugh and watched the various scenes play out below them. Steve was used to violence, hell, he'd been looking for fights since he was a kid. This didn't really strike him as violent, though. The whole practice lacked malice.

"So you're just here to watch, not play?" Griffin asked.

"Ha, yeah, well," Steve grimaced. "I wouldn't want to hurt anybody. Superhuman strength and all." 

"I think you have a lot to learn about masochists," Griffin joked. "To them, being hurt is like being loved. A wise and fucking _hot_ woman, the aforementioned special lady, once told me 'hurt, but do not harm.' To hurt someone is superficial, a bruise on the outside that you can see but fades with time. To harm is to bruise on the inside. Sometimes those can last a lifetime." 

Steve nodded. "I do have a lot to learn about masochists, actually. Does this hot woman have any more advice?"

"She's not here, but I can try in her absence. I'm married to one, so I should be an expert. But I'm not," Griffin confessed, signaling for Steve to follow him further away from the crowds. Steve followed, listening intently. "Some masochists crave the hurt because they've been harmed. Or because pain helps level out their emotions, to calm them and help them focus. Of course, not all submissives are masochists, not all dominants are sadists. Believe it or not, there are people who can actually be all four of those things."

They came upon yet another elevator, and Griffin sent them up another level. "But don't worry about anything that complicated right now, Captain. Can I call you Captain? Don't answer, I'm gonna call you that anyway. The most important thing to know is that you may think that the dominant is the one in control of scenes with subs or masochists, but that's in fact not true."

"No?"

"They have the power to stop a scene with one word or color and you have to respect that."

"A lot of trust is required," Steve said.

"Hell yes. This lifestyle is not for the faint of heart, either. A large part of it is aftercare and nurturing." By now they'd entered a long white hallway with locked doors on either side. Maybe this place used to be a hotel or something. "Yes, I'm taking you to my dungeon but don't be freaked out or anything. I'm just going to give you a present. I don't usually treat guests this well, but then again, my childhood hero doesn't usually walk through the door asking for advice."

"Thanks. I think," Steve chuckled. So all of these rooms were the dungeons of the elite. The walls must have been soundproofed, because he didn't hear a peep from behind any of the closed doors. "I'm kind of in a confusing spot. I have a friend who has been...harmed. Someone that first made me realize that I am the type of person that wants to be in charge of all aspects of life."

"A Dom," Griffin smirked.

"Yes, whatever. There wasn't a fucking classification for everything back in the day," Steve grumbled. "But anyway. Because of what this person has been through, I don't want to address that part of our past with them, even though I think they might want to talk about it." 

Griffin stopped at a room and pulled his keys out, unlocking a heavy wooden door. "Your use of gender neutral pronouns is flawless, Captain. Another piece of advice - in healthy relationships, if you don't communicate, you don't fuck."

So, the inside of a sex dungeon wasn't exactly what Steve expected it to be. The room was partitioned, with a modern slatted bed on one side and a St. Andrew's cross, a deep metal chest, and a black rack with hooks on the wall of the other. On the bed sat a young man with long brown hair and a surprisingly soft, beautiful face. That accessory probably didn't come standard with every room.

"Hey Mick," Griffin said. The boy looked up, his eyebrows rising curiously as he took in Steve. "Don't worry, I don't have any nefarious plans. Well, no more than usual. Steve, this is my husband Michael. Mick, this is-"

"Captain America," Michael whispered, dropping the drawing pad in his hands. This guy was young, much younger than Griffin, but Steve wouldn't voice that. He was too busy being distracted by how Michael almost reminded him of a more angelic looking version of Bucky.

Steve pointed to the bed. "You're an artist?"

"Yes, sir." Michael cleared his throat and pulled his drawings into his lap. "I was an art major at Yorke. Considering going back to school for my Master's degree." 

"I wanted to go to art school once," Steve said with a fond smile.

"Never too late to follow your dreams," Michael responded with a mock salute. Steve laughed, remembering some ridiculous commercial he'd done where he said the same thing. 

While Steve and Michael were chatting, Griffin searched out a piece of equipment and came back, placing it in Steve's hand - a flogger with leather straps and a long leather-wrapped handle. "Since you want to go back to school so badly, I'm giving you a homework assignment. Clip a piece of paper to your wall and knock it down with this. When you've mastered that, move to a small towel, then a large towel."

"Sounds like easy homework," Steve said, fingering the handle.

"We'll see. I'm sure you'll be back at some point with a progress report." Griffin ushered Steve to the door with his own mock salute and a wink, closing the door as soon as Steve stepped back into the hallway.

Not wanting to be accused of stealing, Steve stuffed the flogger down the front of his pants and untucked his shirt to try to cover it up. He tried to fix his face, appearing cool and nothing like a thief. He didn't stay calm long - further down the hall, a redhead stood against the wall and stared at him with wide eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asked, taking quick strides to meet her.

Natasha turned, crossing her arms. "Me? What the hell are _you_ doing here?" 

"I asked you first."

"I have a better question." She eyed him from head to toe. "What the hell is in your pants?" 

"Not what you think," Steve answered through gritted teeth.

"I don't think what you think I think it is is what I think it is. I've seen you in spandex, and the serum can't be that magical."

Well, actually...but he was too pissed to correct her. "I guess you would know," he accused. "Thought you kidnapped my best friend tonight. Means you either lied for him or he's here." 

Natasha made a face. "Wow, really? Why do you think I'm out here? Because I don't want to know if you guys have superhuman penises, too." 

"Do you afford all of your clients the same privacy?"

"James is not a client, he's a..." She hesitated before admitting, "a friend. Like you but with more fighting." 

Steve frowned. "So is he..."

"I don't know what he's doing, I don't care what he's doing. Not my business. Well, not technically."

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Unclench fists, jaw, and ass cheeks. He needed to not overreact here, but like he'd told Sam - if Bucky was involved, he didn't always think clearly. "He was a POW for 70 years, Nat. Forced into being less than human, a weapon. Only God and his therapist know what they did to him."

She poked him in the chest. "Exactly. He's lived a hard fucking life. Are you arrogant enough to think you know what he needs or wants more than he does? He's not a weapon anymore. He's human, and he's as fucked up as all the rest of us. More than us. You have got to get that through your thick ass skull."

Everything clenched again but he remained silent. What could he say? She was right. This all just seemed to be hitting him so quickly. Natasha bringing him here, the conversation with Bucky, now this. It couldn't be a coincidence. Of course it wasn't. What an idiot. He had to get out of there before Bucky saw him. "Good night, Nat."

"It's gonna be hard to sit on the subway with a flogger stuffed down your pants." She smiled, an attempted peace offering.

"I'll stand," Steve grunted in return.

The sweet old ladies returning from the Manhattan Canasta Club would probably never look at him the same way again.

 

* * *

 

Steve hung a piece of paper on the wall of his bedroom.

He swung the flogger.

He smashed a hole in the drywall with the handle.

The paper remained in place.

_Fuck._

 

* * *

 

The front door opened and closed. Bucky moved quietly through their home, like a stealthy cat or a friendly ghost or in reality, a trained assassin. From the confines of his own bedroom Steve tried to sleep and not concentrate on the near silent movements on the other side of his door. 

Into the kitchen for a snack, probably a big spoonful of peanut butter. In the fridge for a big gulp of milk, straight from the jug. Ugh, asshole. The bathroom, the living room, the bathroom again, then to his bedroom. Quit obsessing over him, Steve told himself. Clint would say he's butthurt over being kept in the dark about his best friend's extracurricular activities. And really, that was true, but he had no one to blame but himself.

Steve worried that he'd never be able to move past the mentality he'd had since he discovered Bucky was alive - that it was his responsibility to protect him. Find Bucky. Save Bucky. Fix Bucky. Keep Bucky. Never in that time did he sit back and think "love Bucky" because love seemed so simple and foolish. Love cured nothing. Love did more harm than good. Love was too complicated.

An hour of silence passed but he still couldn't sleep. This never would have happened, what, eighty years ago? The two of them used to talk to each other about everything. No hesitation.

Steve crawled out from under his covers with a sigh, padding quietly out of his room and over to Bucky's. He rapped his knuckles softly against the door, then remembered all the times his own privacy had been completely disregarded. Turnabout was fair play. He opened the door and slid in uninvited. No lights were on, just the glow from the street lamps to guide him to the bed. Bucky wasn't asleep. Steve didn't know how he knew that, he just did. If he had been asleep, Steve would have gone back to his room instead of lying on the bed and crossing his hands over his chest. 

Bucky grumbled without shifting his body or opening his eyes. "You lost?"

Steve thought about the question, choosing the hidden meaning rather than the obvious. "A little."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Yes," Steve answered, then quickly backtracked. "No."

"Wanna not talk about it?"

"Yes." No answer change.

Steve closed his eyes, relaxing into the foreign sheets and blankets. He rarely came in to Bucky's room. This was strange and yet more comforting than he expected.

"You used to make me sleep on the floor," Bucky murmured.

"No, you chose to sleep on the floor. I didn't make you." 

"I was a dumbass. Shoulda made you sleep on the floor."

"Yes, you were." Steve smiled and pushed Bucky hard enough that he rolled to the floor with an echoing thud.

Bucky chuckled but made no attempt to get up. "You're still an asshole."

"Yes, I am." He licked his lips. "I know where you were tonight."

"And I know where _you_ were tonight," Bucky responded. "You wanna not talk about that, too?" 

Not yet. Soon. "You mind if I just stay here a few more minutes?"

A mop of brown hair popped up. Bucky rested his chin on the bed. "You gonna let me back in my bed?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Then yeah, I guess."

Steve watched Bucky out of the corner of his eye as he crawled back under the covers. He didn't stare at his prosthetic arm or ugly striped tank top or his long hair with a little wave in it from being pulled into a ponytail all day - just his face. It was the only thing that hadn't changed throughout all the hell he'd been through.

God, his chest hurt in that weird achy way that had no explanation other than his mind fighting with his body from the inside. He couldn't remember the last time he'd simply shared a bed with someone. Maybe he never had. The close proximity made it hurt just to breathe or think; all he could do was lie there and will himself to either go to sleep or get his ass up and go back to his own bed. He didn't move, though. The ache felt better than the emptiness of sleeping alone. 

As he finally drifted off, Steve wondered if maybe this was why Bucky had always volunteered to take the floor.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Bucky was up and out of bed before Steve. That had happened maybe three times in the nine months they'd shared this home. Steve awoke, startled at the piercing eyes staring at him.

"There's a hole in your wall," Bucky stated, tilting his head.

Steve blinked. "Why were you in my room?"

"Why are _you_ in _my_ room?" 

"Couldn't sleep," Steve answered.

"There's a hole in your wall." 

"I heard you the first time."

"No, that's why I was in your room." Bucky rolled his eyes. "You want me to go get some stuff to patch it up?" As if it was completely normal for there to be random holes in someone's bedroom wall.

Steve sleepily rubbed at his face. "Not...yet."

"You gonna make more holes?"

"Possibly. Probably."

Bucky shrugged. "You can explain to me why one of your cartoon drawings of me as Garfield and Sam as Odie brought on that much rage during breakfast. I made waffles. Okay, Eggos. And by made I mean I got the box out of the freezer. Your toaster hates me."

 

* * *

 

The first hurricane of the season that year slammed into the Gulf of Mexico. BARTON's business cell phone blew up with calls before Hurricane Alberto had even made landfall. Bucky immediately asked if he could take the lead on this mission, but Steve was hesitant. It hadn't even been a year since Bucky had rejoined society as a semi-normal ex-fugitive and it still felt like too soon to assign him with that much pressure. So, much to Sam's chagrin, Steve sent him with Bucky as his shadow to the Florida and Alabama coasts while Wanda and Scott took Mississippi and Louisiana. 

As horrible as it was to be busy because of a natural disaster, Steve enjoyed the chaos surrounding him for the time being. With most of his staff down south, he handled the business end of their charity back in New York. Donations, phone calls, and the unfortunate press interviews that inevitably popped up due to his and the former Avenger's celebrity status all fell on him. He hadn't even bothered with shaving, and was finally starting to grow a five o'clock shadow for the first time in...ever. An entire week had passed before he took a chance to sprawl out on his couch and catch up on everything not directly related to money or disasters.

Wanda and Sam sent professional updates to the business cell every day and personal ones to his private, which he hadn't bothered to check until now. Wanda really liked Cajun food and when Scott made himself tiny because she could fit him in her pocket. Sam said that people were scared of Bucky's arm but intimidation had always worked in his favor anyway. Also, the seafood and women's accents were top notch. Surprisingly, the only text from Bucky was a selfie of him smiling with the message "nice to be a good guy again."

His Snapchat had nine notifications, no doubt from Sam and Bucky trying to outdo each other in their love/hate friendship. Steve cackled at a picture of Sam ducking away from a seagull with the caption "she mad he never called back." Most others were of each other or random volunteers with strange looking animal faces. His favorite by far was the last picture Sam sent - Bucky posing in American flag running shorts and a blue tank top, with his hair blowing in the wind. The caption read "if captain america was a porn star."

It struck Steve all of a sudden that he was alone in his home. He missed Bucky's presence then - his kitchen rummaging, the wide variety of music randomly coming from his bedroom, nearly tripping over him lying on the floor, and especially his smartass mouth. Some time away would be good for him, for both of them probably. Without Bucky as a distraction, maybe Steve could figure out what the hell he actually wanted from this complicated arrangement. 

It was late, and he was actually physically and mentally tired. Thinking about Bucky could be exhausting on top of all that. Even so, he stared at the goofy patriotic picture of the once decorated soldier for much longer than necessary before he went to sleep.

 

* * *

 

"Please stop posting pictures of Bucky in booty shorts." 

"Please tell him to stop wearing booty shorts, then. I'm ready to stage an intervention. Oh wait, no, found him, here you tell-"

"No, I take it back-"

"Hello?" Bucky's gruff voice replaced Sam's on the other end of the phone. Steve heard muffled arguing, something about sweat and phones and "that's why you got a fucking waterproof case."

"Hey Buck." Steve smiled to himself. "What's with the sudden aversion to clothes?"

"It's hot as fucking balls down here, man. Have you ever heard of swamp ass? Well, I have it. Besides, I do my best work with minimal clothes on."

A blush crept up Steve's cheeks - why, why, why - and he scrubbed at his now very scruffy face with his free hand. It had been three weeks now since the hurricane made landfall, and three weeks since he had shaved. He always figured he couldn't ever grow a full beard anyway but wanted to how far he could get. To his surprise, he could almost pass as a mountain man now.

"Is the judgmental silence your way of telling me to wear more clothes and suffer from heat stroke?"

"Nah," Steve said. "I don't wanna be a tight ass. Just giving you a hard time."

Bucky paused. "I think you just short-circuited my brain."

And that short-circuited Steve's brain. He was going to have to give himself a pep talk later to refocus before his interview. "Your brain is fine, better than it has been in over half a century. And I'm really proud of how well you're doing down there, you know that, right? Even if you can't keep your clothes on." 

"Thanks, pal." Steve could feel Bucky's smile through the phone. "Here's Sam again, he's pecking at me to give him the phone back."

Sam muttered "I hate you" before snatching the phone. "Whatcha thinking, Cap, about one more week? We could stay longer but we've got everything set up to where the locals can take over and just have us come back sporadically."

"As usual, you are wise, Sam. Hey, I'm being interviewed for the national NBC news airing tomorrow if you want to watch me giving everyone else credit but myself."

"I always want to see that, you cocky ass."

They said their goodbyes and Steve tossed his phone on the nightstand. Reaching under the bed, he pulled out his gift from Griffin. Cocking his head to the side, he eyed a full sized towel pinned to the wall and struck it with the flogger, sending it slinking to the floor. 

Pep talk - done.

These last few weeks had been pretty monumental in the life of Steve Rogers. Not Captain America, the Star Spangled Man with a Plan, but the real Steve that often got overshadowed by stars and stripes. He wasn't the type of guy that could just do nothing - hence the fact his retirement turned into a nonprofit organization run. Even with that, he had lacked focus. He'd still been lost in his own head, trying to sort out who he really was without the shield. 

Steve Rogers was a leader. An asshole. Someone who didn't take no for an answer. The guy who didn't want a single good soul to be a victim. All of those things had been true since before World War II even started. There were some new things he'd had to learn.

Steve had people skills now. He commanded respect from everyone when he entered a room. He could be fierce when needed yet also gentle when the time called for it. They didn't have a label for it back in the day, but now he realized that he wasn't confused, he was bisexual and that was all well and good (Griffin was honestly a sexual lifesaver). Also, he was a man who was completely fine with his shortage of sexual experience and just needed the right, consensual partner in order to get his freak on. That, he would work on after the hurricane cleanup efforts were done.

And apparently he was pretty fucking attractive, because when he finally got his head out of his ass over the lost loves of his life (Peggy and maybe, he still wasn't sure, the old Bucky) he noticed that people flirted with him and stared at him like he was a tasty treat. That made it harder for him to wait for Bucky, but his mom always used to say, good things come to those who wait.

 

* * *

 

Steve was making dinner for Natasha the next night when her phone started firing bullets. Not actual ones, but that sound was her text alert because despite all of her talk, she really fucking liked being a badass spy. She laughed and he stirred the mashed potatoes, trying not to be nosy. It didn't last, because more bullets and more laughing and secrets don't make friends. "What's so funny?" 

"Sam," she answered, typing a text.

Steve waved his hand. "Sam...made a joke, or..."

Natasha made a face. "Ugh, you are such a control freak."

"So I've been told. By you. Numerous times."

She shrugged. "Apparently James was hardcore flirting with some bartender until your interview came on the news. I guess he didn't know about the beard?"

Steve couldn't decide whether to frown at the flirting or smile about his ability to end it. He chose to smile. "No, didn't seem relevant to mention."

"Yeah, well, I think you broke him." Natasha tossed the phone into the kitchen.

Steve murmured the message aloud. "If I'd known all it took to get his ass to shut up was for Cap to grow a beard I would have suggested it months ago." The picture of Bucky was pretty funny if he just glanced at it - he looked stunned, mouth agape and brow furrowed. He also looked tan, fresh-faced, and goddamn beautiful. _Less than a week_ , he told himself. Then he would at least have a chance of finding out if all of the shit in his head was real or just a figment of his overactive imagination. 

"Ugh, give it back before you drool on it."

Sighing, Steve tossed the phone back to her and pulled out two dinner plates. "I wasn't drooling."

"Haven't we already established that you can't hide shit from me? I saw it on your face. And, I know you have been spending a lot of time, ahem, underground lately. Admit it, you're gonna try to top the biggest bottom this side of the East River."

"That is none..." He paused, twisting his lips. Maybe it wasn't worth it to try to lie. "Okay, yes. But I'm only confessing this because of the good faith I have in our friendship. You know him, maybe in ways that I don't. You would tell me if this was a mistake, right?"

Natasha tapped her lip, watching Steve pile their plates with baked chicken, potatoes, and broccoli. He still hadn't bought into these new "superfoods" he saw everywhere. "Steve. As much as I like to pretend that I would toy with your emotions, it's not true. Talk to him. Do this. Trust me." 

"I do, at least ninety percent of the time," he said with a teasing smile.

"That's more than most." Natasha winked. "I am so excited for a gay Captain America, people are going to shit themselves."

"I'm not gay."

"You're plotting to make the original Winter Soldier your submissive, and I'm assuming also planning to fuck him. Honey, you aren't straight."

 

* * *

 

Not that Steve had been counting down the days until his best friends would return to New York, but he knew it was approximately twenty-two hours before their ETA when he got a picture message from Sam. That in itself was a little odd, since Sam usually preferred to share his media through Snapchat or Instagram. The picture clearly was for him and only him. 

Unfortunately for Sam, Steve's attention couldn't be torn away at the present time.

The final question Steve had for himself in the grand dominate Bucky plan of 2018 - was he truly sexually attracted to his best friend or was he just projecting the memories of his only sexual experiences onto the man Bucky had become?

Obviously, he loved him, but love didn't equal sex. He thought Bucky to be one of the most beautiful people he'd ever laid eyes on, but attraction didn't always mean sex, either. And there was no denying now that he had the desire to possess him, but as Natasha had proven, domination could be achieved without sex as well.

It all boiled down to the boner test, and he loved Sam, but he would just have to wait for what promised to be his most intense orgasm in seventy-four fucking years to come to fruition.

Funny thing - when Steve finally let his repressed memories back to the surface, they weren't any weaker than when his brain decided they would cause more harm than pleasure. Back then, Bucky looked and smelled and he assumed tasted different than the present day version, but the past was so clear in his mind now that he could have believed in time travel. French cigarettes he'd bummed from Jacques far too often, Scotch from Monty, and Christmas in Manhattan. Pine, and fir, and spruce mixed with crisp air that stung his lungs in a way that was oddly pleasant. 

He had pretty good control over his sexual urges now, unlike right after he'd gotten the serum and felt like a walking hard-on. In fact, he rarely satisfied his needs anymore because that constant little buzz of horniness was thrilling, made him feel alive and electric. Human touch, pleasant or violent, set him alight.

And that was what started all of this in the first place - a fight. He and Bucky had fought side by side for years but never against each other with superhuman serum running through their veins and the desperation of war controlling their minds. Bucky had been more frantic than usual that night, running away and trying to lose himself in the woods. It took all Steve had to restrain him, to calm him...

Steve swallowed the lump in his throat and the fear that there was something wrong with him, because as much as that memory upset him, it still made him painfully hard within seconds. Bucky, Bucky, _his Bucky_. They've fought so many more times since then and goddammit that shouldn't fuel him further but it does. He palmed himself through his pants and thought about seeing that face for the first time in years on the causeway, the moment of recognition as Bucky was about to kill him on the helicarrier, the way he said "Steve" after waking from mind control in Germany. That was as close to war Bucky as he could remember, the warm adoration mixed with cold calculation and confusion. 

"Fuck it," Steve mumbled, pushing his pants down his hips. Just the memory of Bucky passed his little self test. He spit in his palm, allowing his mind to spiral further down the rabbit hole as he stroked himself hard and fast. It hurt the first time, he remembered. He couldn't even begin to imagine how painful it had been for Bucky. And yet he'd begged for it, and Steve said yes and he liked it and he didn't want to but he did.

He dug his heels into the mattress, trying to stave off his release. Just a few seconds longer, just long enough to remember what it felt like to move inside of his best friend and be the reason for the growls and clawing and -

"Oh, thank you Captain." The words tumbled out of his mouth with a gasp as Steve came over his hand and tee shirt. Spots filled his vision for just a second but he blinked them away, looking around his room to re-center himself.

Well, that was a little embarrassing. Not only did he come in record time without even watching porn but he essentially moaned his own fucking name while it happened. He knew why those words had such an effect on him, but still. Better to get that out of the way while alone, he supposed.

After cleaning himself up and dying a little on the inside from personal embarrassment, Steve finally retrieved his phone from the top of the dresser. Now he had photo messages from both Sam and Bucky. He checked Bucky's first, a shot of the beach at sunset. The message read "do i have to come home? jk miss you jackass." Steve smiled and switched to Sam's chat. He'd actually sent five messages. The first was a picture, also of the beach at sunset, but you could actually see the silhouette of Bucky in (normal length) shorts and a tee shirt with his feet in the water. The first message below it read almost like a poem, with Sam commentary following.

 

so much turmoil underneath

powerful, deadly, violent

but storms come and go

the beauty is what we remember

 

talking bout the ocean not your dumbass friend

 

stop fucking crying, he's an asshole

 

he did great though

 

Steve couldn't cry from laughing too hard at Sam's infinite wisdom and snark. At least he and Bucky survived the mission without killing each other. Steve missed his other best friend, too, and couldn't wait to have everyone back home in New York.

He saved the picture of Bucky and the ocean to his phone as a reminder of Sam's words and Bucky's difficult complexities. There was one thing Steve knew for sure now - if Bucky was like the ocean, he was more than ready to drown.

 

* * *

 

Bucky was home and it was late as hell and Steve was just so happy to have him back that he wrapped him in a hug even though that just wasn't something they really did anymore, not like they used to. But Steve didn't want to live like that anymore, so he squeezed Bucky until he groaned. "You okay, Steve?" 

"I missed you, is all."

"It was only a month, man."

Steve let him go and held him at arms length. "A month here and now, yeah. But I missed you when you were in cryo in Wakanda. For the two years that I knew you were alive and couldn't find you. The three years I knew you were dead and didn't and couldn't believe it. Maybe I've never said it but...now I have."

Bucky's eyes narrowed, and Steve noticed the slightly lighter circles around them from where he'd gotten a tan while wearing sunglasses. "You sure you're alright?"

"Never better," Steve answered. "I know you're tired, uh, we can catch up tomorrow."

"Okay," Bucky said, still suspicious. "I like the beard, by the way. Suits you."

"Thanks." Steve smiled. "I do, too."

 

* * *

 

Steve's behavior was anything but normal, but he just didn't have the spy instinct like Natasha or Bucky did. He could kick anybody's ass or motivate a group of people to follow him, but act cool as fuck when he was literally busting at the seams of his too tight tee shirt? Hell no. 

Bucky had to know something was up, but he said nothing. It's possible he was too distracted by trying to get settled back in at home, but Steve doubted it. Spies knew when they were being watched, and Steve was watching him like a hawk, waiting for the chance to devour his prey. Or something like that. Did the prey ever get the upper-hand and eat its predator? Steve didn't want to be the first, that was for damn sure.

Of course, Bucky acted completely normal even though Steve had nervous energy radiating from his bones. They talked about the cleanup, and the people Bucky and Sam met, and how Bucky couldn't wait to go back to check on progress. Steve promised he'd visit with him the next time. They ate, they cleaned, unpacked, watched TV, and existed like normal. That was good, though, because Bucky liked to relax on the floor and read or write or just think once it turned dark and the lights of the city took over for the sun.

As expected, Bucky was resting with his back against the couch when Steve waltzed into the great room with a book he had no intention of reading. And also as expected, Bucky chuckled and shook his head when Steve sat down almost directly behind him on the couch. "What?" Bucky asked. "Spit it out."

Steve shrugged. "Just wanted to talk, is all."

"Well, you've been acting weird since I got back, so if you would kindly get whatever it is off your chest so you'll quit fluttering around here like Sam, I'd appreciate it."

"Like Sam?"

"Ya know. A bird," Bucky answered, as if it should have been obvious. "If it's something like you thinking it's time for me to get my own place, the bandaid method is my preferred approach."

"Own...place?" That came out of nowhere. "I don't want you to get your own place."

"Well that's good, seeing as how I work for a nonprofit charity and haven't pulled a paycheck in this century, it'd take me a while to save up-"

"I don't want you to get your own place," Steve repeated, more firmly this time. Even though he was different now, deep down this was still Bucky, he reminded himself. And if he was completely off base, well...at least they didn't have many breakables in the place. "That's actually the last thing I want."

Bucky hummed quietly. "Really?"

"You did so much for me, ya know, when we were younger." Steve licked his lips, reaching for the elastic holding Bucky's ponytail in place. He tugged it free, slipping the hair tie over his wrist. Bucky visibly stiffened, but Steve ignored him, untangling the brunet waves with his fingers. "It's nice to take care of someone else for a change. I want to take care of you." 

"It's um, nice to be taken care of." Bucky's voice came out more as a croak. Something in his demeanor changed the instant Steve, essentially, began petting him. Steve never touched him or talked to him this way, but it seemed to startle more than confuse him. It was just the slight advantage Steve needed to gain the upper-hand over the potentially dangerous man under his palm. "Steve?"

"Relax, Sergeant," Steve purred, slipping his fingers under Bucky's hair to grip him by the back of his neck. "You're safe with me."

Bucky stared straight ahead with wide eyes. "Well, look who decided to come out of hibernation."

His pulse pounded hard and fast in his ears and Steve felt truly alive for the first time in months...years. He leaned in closer and squeezed Bucky's neck harder, causing him to wince slightly. "You said you remember the war. Tell me what you remember."

Bucky had a way of laughing when certain memories came to the forefront of his mind. His eyes crinkled and he giggled, like this horrific experience they'd shared together was fucking hilarious. Maybe he didn't remember the bad things, though - the blood and bombs and the fear that consumed him. Maybe he only remembered Steve. "You fucked me against a tree," he breathed out between laughs. "A pine tree? It was sticky and scratched my face."

Steve blinked. "Is that all?"

"It happened more than once. Sometimes it was awful and I thanked you for it anyway." Bucky shifted his eyes to the left to look at Steve. "Captain."

"Are these good memories or bad ones? If you say bad, I'll let go and never bring this up again."

Bucky clenched his jaw. "Good. Good memories."

Steve loosened his grip, brushing his thumb over the red oval it'd left on Bucky's skin. Anyone else it would have bruised, but he and Bucky weren't like anyone else. "I don't know why that happened the way it did, Bucky. The war, the serum, it changed things. Amplified everything."

"The war, the serum," Bucky sneered, and that's when Steve knew - he remembered everything. "Turned me into a monster and you into a fucking superhero."

"You." Without meaning to, Steve squeezed again. That little reinforcement seemed to make Bucky relax a little, just like it used to. " _You_ made me a superhero."

"Made you and destroyed you," Bucky said. "Monster."

 _No no no_. "You are _not_ a monster." 

With distant eyes and a sad smile, Bucky carried on like he hadn't heard his friend. "Ya know, At first I didn't understand why you were so hellbent on saving me. Why would anyone risk so much for me? I wasn't worth that. But then I remembered and it made sense, right? You were in love with me. But then...you weren't."

"Buck." Steve grimaced. Bucky was prone to quick mood shifts and had already almost run the gamut in the few minutes they'd been talking.

"So it was about the sex, then, I thought. I belonged to you, it was your responsibility to take care of me. So I was good for you, and I was bad for you, but you ignored all of it. It wasn't about sex, either." Bucky swallowed. "I figured that you had forgotten or that I imagined it, that everything that exhibit in the museum said was just what we were. Are. Best friends. But you do remember, and somehow that's worse."

This conversation was more painful that Steve had imagined it would be. "I tried to forget."

"Thanks."

"Because it hurts to remember." 

"No shit," Bucky spat out bitterly. "Bet this story wouldn't go very well with that pristine Captain America reputation. Pines over Peggy Carter for all to see then fucks his best friend in the cover of night."

"You're trying to start a fight." Steve sighed and pulled his hand away but Bucky caught it roughly with his metal hand.

"No, you started the fight when you did this," he said, bringing Steve's hand to his neck, then shifting it to cover his throat. "I'm just giving you what you want."

"What I want is you." Slowly Steve tightened his grip, feeling the bob of the Adam's apple under his hand, literally watching Bucky's pupils grow wider with the added pressure. Yes, he was upset, but Bucky was strong enough to get away if he'd actually wanted to. He did _not_ want to. "But not like this." 

Leaning into the touch, Bucky twisted his body to fully face the couch. He placed his hands on Steve's knees, pushing himself into a kneel. "Then how do you want me?"

"The right way," Steve answered calmly, though he felt anything but calm. "If you want this, I'll do my best to make you feel good, and be happy. I know you don't think you deserve that but you do."

"Of course I want that, but you know that this," Bucky said, dropping his gaze to Steve's hand still around his neck, "is what makes me feel good. Best reprogramming and therapists in Wakanda couldn't fix that."

Now, that was a mentality that needed to get reprogrammed out of both of their heads. Just because they were different, didn't mean they needed to be fixed. Steve smiled and pulled his hand back, patting his lap. "I never said that vanilla was the right way."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "You asking me to climb in your lap?"

"No, I'm telling you to get in my lap."

"You're serious."

"It's an order."

"Yes, Captain." Bucky saluted, crawling up Steve's legs. Once he got there, though, he seemed a little lost. "Well, this is new."

Jesus, Bucky had gotten heavy. Not that it was a bad thing, just an interesting sensation to have a grown ass man that was made of solid muscle sitting in his lap. Steve definitely liked it, even if he wasn't entirely sure what exactly to do with the body on top of him. Having someone in his personal space, fuck, resting their hands on his chest and straddling his legs had thrown him off his game. Some Dom he was. Breathe slow and deep, he reminded himself, and do what comes naturally - being in charge.

"We need to talk about things," he said. What the hell should he do with his hands? Play with Bucky's hair again, his brain - dick - screamed, but they were just going to talk right now. Intimately.

Bucky watched Steve's confusion with growing interest. "I'm sitting in your lap to...talk?"

Finally his hands settled on Bucky's thighs. He wore sweatpants tonight. There was already the beginnings of a tent being pitched. _Focus_. "You've been playing with Nat, don't pretend like you don't know what I want to talk about. But first, whose idea was it to take me to the 8th Circle?" 

"Wasn't my idea." Bucky shook his head, leaving little stray strands of hair in his face. He didn't meet Steve's eyes because he couldn't tear his own away from the way his hands looked splayed across Steve's chest. "She's smart as fuck, I'm sure it didn't take her long to figure out our history. Jesus, Steve, your tits are huge."

The lap thing - horrible idea. Steve grabbed Bucky's wrists with a low growl with the intention of removing the distraction, but that just served to provide an even bigger distraction for both of them. He pushed down about five impure thoughts and tried to continue the conversation. "Why did you go to her first instead of me, though? I'm not hurt by it, just curious."

"It was an accident, kinda. We really were just sparring, but I kept ya know, getting hard and that was a real fucking inconvenience, like a goddamn bullseye on my pants. So we had a talk, sort of like the birds and the bees all over again but if the birds and bees were into pain. And in my mind, it was safer with her than anyone else. If I couldn't handle it and...became someone else, I trusted her to not let me hurt anyone."

Steve smiled. "Fair enough. I have had a hard time telling you no in the past."

"Maybe I shoulda just asked you to fuck me from the get go, then."

"You might wanna get used to hearing me say it now, though." His grip on Bucky's wrists tightened and he swore he heard a tiny whine, and that little sound shot straight to his crotch. "There won't be any fucking tonight."

"You haven't waited long enough?" Bucky growled, fighting to get control of his hands back.

"Stop," Steve warned, and Bucky by God actually listened. "I said we're gonna do it right, and we're also going to go slow. There's a lot of fun things I want to do to you first." 

"But the fun is in the fucking," Bucky argued.

"You know that's not always true. If it were, you would have been spreading your legs for half of New York by now." God, Steve hated talking that way, but he remembered that Bucky liked being talked down to so he could be brought back up again. "But you haven't, have you? You've been good."

Bucky nodded.

"Only me?" Steve asked, hoping to God the answer was yes.

He nodded again. "Only you."

"Maybe we're more old-fashioned than I thought," Steve said proudly. A lapse in judgment made him let go of Bucky's wrists.

"Gay and kinky is old-fashioned?" Of course Bucky used his new freedom to his advantage, thumbing over Steve's beard curiously.

His new arm was quiet and smooth, unlike the old one. All of the human (and cybernetic) contact had a dizzying effect over Steve - though, that could've been from the lack of blood in his brain. He really wasn't used to this, and he mentally chided himself for not trusting himself or Bucky's recovery efforts enough to allow more touching earlier. He imagined Bucky had to be feeling the same way. "Not sleeping around is old-fashioned," he murmured. "And for the record, I'm not gay."

"Oh yeah?" Bucky slid deeper into Steve's lap. "Your cock says otherwise, my friend."

"Okay, enough." Steve twisted his hands in Bucky's hair and yanked to get his attention, dragging him from his lap back to the floor. Bucky looked rather pleased with himself. "You're a little shit. Stay."

Bucky grinned devilishly. "How long have you been wanting to say that to me?" 

"Pretty much the second you walked through the door, honestly," Steve answered, unable to keep the smile off his face. "Now, I'm not done talking. Focus."

"Kinda hard to focus with your hand in my hair, Captain."

"Number one," Steve said, begrudgingly releasing his handle of hair. "Don't call me that. That's not who I am anymore."

Bucky furrowed his brow. "What do you want me to call you?"

Steve shrugged. "Whatever you want, as long as it makes you feel safe and taken care of." Bucky nodded. "Okay, secondly. Safe word or color system?"

"Safe word. Um. Luna."

"The park on Coney Island?" Steve asked. They should plan a visit there soon.

"No, Lovegood. I read the Harry Potter series at the beach," Bucky deadpanned. The disappointed look on Steve's face made him roll his eyes. "Yes, the park, Steve."

Such a little shit. "Hard limits?"

Bucky spoke as if his answer was well rehearsed. "No thrones, shock, gags, or daddy kink."

"Daddy kink?" Steve cringed.

Bucky sighed. "I saw a girl in a nightgown this one time at the club, the whole thing just creeped me out. No daddy stuff."

"I'm creeped out and I didn't even see it." Steve shuddered. "So no gags? You don't want anything in your mouth or just inanimate objects?"

"This is so clinical, I'd be impressed if I didn't know how much fun you're having right now." Bucky stared straight ahead between Steve's legs. "Eye level."

"Answer the question."

"Inanimate objects. I think. I might be okay with human parts," he answered, but didn't look quite convinced.

"Hey, it's fine if you're not. That's why we're talking about this."

Smoothing his hair behind his ears, Bucky looked up anxiously. Another shift, but small this time, as if the reality of their entire conversation just hit home. It wasn't a joke, they were actually going to do this. "Could I try? Just really quick."

 _Be cool, Rogers_. Don't freak the fuck out. "Try?" 

"Just..." Bucky took Steve's hand, folding all but two fingers into a fist to show him what he meant. And that was fine, great, slow.

"Okay, yeah." But Steve didn't know if he was okay, because he couldn't tear his eyes away from Bucky's face and for a split second he considered telling him to stop for fear that he'd accidentally push him too far before they'd really even begun. He waited, though, letting Bucky be the one to make his own choice.

Steve watched Bucky ghost his lips over his fingertips before closing his eyes and opening his mouth. As soon as Bucky's tongue guided his fingers inside, Steve had an "oh" moment. This was something he'd never experienced before - fuck, his mouth was soft and wet and insanely hot - and he was so wired that he could feel every nerve in his body tingling. To make it even better, Bucky fucking whimpered before fluttering his eyes open and pulling his mouth away. Steve made it a personal goal then and there to hear Bucky make that little noise as much as humanly possible.

"You good?" Steve asked, anxiously rubbing the wet fingers against his thumb.

"Good." His eyes were a little hazy but Bucky seemed fine. He cleared his throat and rolled his left shoulder. "What were we...hard limits? You?"

"Right. Um. Guns."

Bucky frowned.

"I'm just not comfortable around them." Steve chose not to throw in the fact that, oh yeah, Bucky actually shot him a few years ago. 

"Anything else?" Bucky asked.

 _Yes, please suck my fingers again_ , Steve thought. It was a fleeting, selfish thought on his part. What he was most looking forward to had nothing to do with receiving attention, but being able to give it however he wanted. Okay, receiving would be good too but that would come later. Right now, it was all about Bucky. Steve pointed to his lap again and Bucky returned quickly. 

Bucky repeated his question, more softly this time. "Anything else?"

There was so much more to say. Steve wanted to know everything and tell him everything, but it could wait. They could start simple. "Did you like my hands in your hair?" he asked, reaching for a wayward strand.

"Yeah. I was thinking about cutting it but now, maybe not."

"Don't," Steve said. He ran his fingers along Bucky's scalp, then cupped the back of his neck. "You gonna freak out if I kiss you?"

"You're so backwards, most people wait to talk about sex until after they've actually kissed."

Steve licked his lips. "We're not most people."

Bucky looked down at him through heavy eyelids. Tired eyes that had seen too much for a lifetime but still managed to appear bright and innocent in that moment. "I won't freak out. That beard, though, kinda makes your lips look like-"

"Oh my God, shut up." Steve tugged and Bucky fell. The kiss was sweet but sloppy, because they could talk a big game but really they were just two boys from the 40s who didn't know what the hell they were doing. That didn't really matter - they figured out fast enough that it wasn't a competition, and that tongue was better in moderation, and that Steve really liked having his bottom lip bitten and Bucky really liked biting it.

Eventually it just felt right to stop and breathe. Bucky's brow furrowed as he leaned back. He looked lost, like he had no idea how he wound up in Steve's lap or their faces just inches apart. But then he laughed. "You taste the same," he said, touching Steve's lips. "I remember you."

Steve swallowed a sob, closing his eyes to hide the flood of emotion threatening to overwhelm him. Bucky didn't taste the same, or look the same, or even feel the same, but it was okay. Steve remembered him, too.

 

* * *

 

Steve still used an actual alarm clock in his room, one that blared the radio and had a more trustworthy snooze button than the damn alarm on his phone. When it broke the silence the next morning with an advertisement for the next great weight loss supplement, Steve sat at attention and dismissed it quickly. He wasn't alone in bed this morning.

Given the nature of their discussion the night before, his and Bucky's bed sharing had been relatively innocent. Neither of them were quite ready to let go of the other yet so they stayed up sharing old stories and new, occasionally making out and dry humping like teenagers until they fell asleep. Steve remembered Bucky waking him in the middle of the night with a limit he'd forgotten to put on the list - he didn't want anything done to him in his sleep.

And now he lay curled in a ball, sleeping perfectly still and making no sound at all. Steve wouldn't wake him, but he did hope Bucky would get up on his own pretty soon. Steve now had permission to play with Bucky however he wanted. There was no time like the present, right?

After throwing on his running clothes, he made his way to the kitchen to make coffee and eat a protein bar. He anxiously followed his normal morning routine while poking his head in the bedroom periodically. Eventually he sat on the bed next to him with his tablet, trying not to obsess over the clock. As he tried to get comfortable - two huge guys in one bed, why don't they make anything bigger than a king? - Bucky rolled over and grunted, "You're fluttering again." 

"I don't think that word means what you think it means," Steve joked. He wanted to ruffle Bucky's messy hair. He could do that now, right? Yes, but he still waited until Bucky blinked and stared at him sleepily before touching him.

"You're scared of me," Bucky stated, not asked.

"No." Steve shook his head. "I respect that you are a victim and maybe could react differently to certain things. I still haven't finished figuring you out yet."

Bucky pursed his lips. "But you're not afraid?"

"Why should I be?" Steve pulled on Bucky's arm until he uncurled and flattened himself on his back.

"I tried to kill you. More than once," Bucky muttered, following Steve's movements with his eyes.

"And yet, here I am. Still alive," Steve said with a smirk. He swung a leg over Bucky's hips, straddling him as he spoke. "Maybe it's because I'm just better than you."

Bucky grunted.

"I'm bigger than you," Steve continued, leaning heavily on Bucky's only slightly smaller frame to make the point, and also to reach out and grab his wrists. "I'm faster than you." He squeezed. "I'm stronger than you."

The struggle between arguing in his own defense and relenting control of this situation was evident on Bucky's face. On one hand, he was stubborn as hell and had a legitimate case as far as speed and strength were concerned. But on the other hand, Steve's hands were on him and his body had him pinned to the bed. If Bucky really did still have this side to him and craved this sort of attention, he'd be foolish to reject it. 

The dick will beat pride nine times out of ten.

Wiggling helplessly, Bucky purred, "You are, sir." Then smiled like the devil incarnate.

Okay, so. Sir. Pretty standard but enough to bring a thrilled flush to his cheeks and a dull ache in his gut because this was _Bucky_ talking to him this way. Fuck yes. Steve exhaled shakily and rolled off of his friend, pecking a confused Bucky on the lips as he did. 

"Did I do something wrong?" Bucky frowned.

"You're perfect," Steve said with a wide smile. "Go do whatever you need to in the bathroom and come back to bed when you're done. Lose your clothes while you're in there."

"Oh." Bucky's eyebrows shot up. He scrambled out of bed, double-checking the seriousness of Steve's face before nodding a few too many times and running to his bathroom. Steve couldn't hold back a gleeful snort at Bucky's excitement or the record setting time it took for him to return.

And it wasn't like Steve didn't usually get a eyeful of Bucky skin on a daily basis. The man wasn't modest by any means, but walking into Steve's room bare ass naked seem to make him just a shade self-conscious. "There's no sexy way to do this," he said, playfully resting his hands on his hips. "Here I am, cock and all."

Steve suppressed a laugh and tried not to stare. It was hard - not to stare. "I think we're a little old for seductive struts in high heels."

"Speak for yourself."

This time Steve did actually laugh. And he did stare. Where Bucky's body used to be lean with patches of curly brown hair across his chest and belly, now it was hard and smooth - defined muscles, with barely any body hair save for the mop on his head and a little bit of pubic hair.

"You look like you've never seen a dick before," Bucky joked, stepping closer to the bed. "I know you have one under those clothes...that you're still wearing."

"If you have a problem with me looking at your dick, this isn't going to work out."

"Maybe I thought I'd get to see yours, too." Bucky raised his chin.

Rising to his knees on the bed, Steve matched his defiant stare and raised him a quirked eyebrow. "Maybe you should do what I told you to and get back on the bed."

They both knew this dynamic was what got them going in the past - Bucky's defiance against Steve's dominance and ultimate victory. Bucky smirked and kneeled on the bed in front of Steve, giving him his most innocent look. "Sorry, sir."

Steve didn't believe the act for a second. "Sit," he ordered. Bucky didn't argue, sitting with his legs bent at the knee and his poor half hard cock very much on display. Steve sat in front of him, pinching his chin between his thumb and forefinger to keep his attention on him. "Buck. You asked me if I'm scared of you and I said no. It's because I trust you. You trust me, too, right? You know I won't do anything to harm you?"

"Yes. I have a safe word and you won't do anything I don't want you to do," he answered as if he'd been rehearsing the words in his head.

Steve nodded. "We're just starting to figure this out, so I'm going to be asking you a lot of questions. I want you to answer the way you want to, not how you think _I_ want you to. No lies, no secrets. Understand?"

Bucky tried to nod but Steve's grip wouldn't allow it. "Understood."

"Good. So," Steve started, choosing his words carefully. "I need to know. Do you need pain in order to, ah, get off? Or do you just like it?"

Bucky tried to drop his gaze but Steve held his chin firmly in place. "I don't need it," he murmured. 

"Hey. I'm the guy that still doesn't know how to run from a fight, the last thing I'm gonna do is think less of you because pain feels good to you. It does, right?"

"Yeah." Bucky licked his lips. "I think my skin is three times as thick as it should be now. A blow that would really hurt someone else feels like a dull thrumming. I get a rush if something really hurts, if I can actually feel things. I like the rush from pain. Uh, fear. Discipline too, I guess."

That made perfect sense to Steve. He'd never thought of it that way but he related to those feelings so much. "I understand, and pretty much feel the same. Well, the opposite, really," he said with a chuckle, which made Bucky smile.

"Guess that works out well for us, huh?"

"Yeah." Steve sighed, dropping his hand from Bucky's face. "I'm just not ready for it, yet. Hurting you, I mean. I will be, soon. I'd be more comfortable if we just started with the BD and transitioned into the S and M, ya know? Start slow."

"I'm butt ass naked on your bed, that's slow?"

Now it was Steve's turn to smile like the devil. "There's a very logical reason for you being naked. Call it a trust exercise, if you will."

Bucky curled his lip. "You just wanted to see if I'd do it? For a second I thought you were acting way too nice to be a dom, but I take it back."

Steve rolled his eyes and crawled over to his nightstand, still talking though his back was to Bucky now. "What do you use when you jerk off? Lotion or lube or..."

"Wow, um, subject change. Nothing."

"Nothing? Okay." After rummaging through his nightstand - wow, he had bought a lot of sex stuff lately - Steve pulled out a handful of items and dropped them on the bed. Now he started to really get excited. "Do you ever finger yourself?"

Bucky blinked in shock. "Butt plugs? Your idea of starting slow is butt plugs?"

"Answer the question." 

"Occasionally. Why are there _so many_ butt plugs?!"

Pursing his lips, Steve picked up two plugs - one big and one small. "Different sizes, obviously. How many fingers do you use?"

"You're enjoying this," Bucky said. Judging by the swelling between his legs, it looked like Bucky was, too. "Yeah, uh, only one finger."

"See, this is why it's good to have different sizes!" Okay, maybe he was getting a little too excited. Gotta bring it down a notch. Steve tossed everything but a small black plug and a bottle of lube back into his drawer. "I've been educating myself as best as I can lately. This is a water-based lubricant, not as good for sex but better for using with sex toys. Lie down."

"You're blowing my mind, Steve," Bucky said, falling onto his back with wide eyes. "You went from not even knowing what lube was to giving me an educational lesson on it. Oh God, is this ass training? This is ass training, isn't it?"

Was ass training even a thing? Even if it wasn't, it didn't sound like such a bad idea. Steve crawled on top of Bucky, gently stroking his hair. "Call it training if you want. I just want to take care of you."

Steve kissed him then, curling his fingers in Bucky's long hair and shifting his weight to grind his hips. He needed to convey all the thoughts he just couldn't voice. He was sorry he'd acted as if one wrong move would break him. That deep down he still blamed himself for Bucky's misfortunes. He needed this, too. He needed to make him feel happy, and safe, and make him forget every horrible thing that's ever happened to him. He would do everything in his power to make it happen.

What Griffin said to him the first time they'd really talked about this lifestyle popped back into his mind. Steve only acted as if he had the power because he lived for the thrill of taking charge and giving orders. In reality, Bucky was the one who owned him. He had for years and years, and this - the low gasps into his mouth as he tugged his hair, the growing pressure against his hip - proved he was truly powerless. 

Younger Steve would have fucked his friend into the ground. But he was older and wiser now and saw the bigger picture. There were multiple ways to get satisfaction, and he wanted to try every goddamn one of them. First, though, he had to get Bucky to quit trying to pull his pants down.

"Stop."

Bucky whined and nipped at Steve's neck. "Are you trying to make me beg already?"

"Not yet."

Another low whine rumbled in his chest as Steve kissed his way down his body, avoiding all sensitive areas on his descent. He growled, "The beard tickles, I hate it and I hate you, too."

Steve sat back on his heels and slapped Bucky's thigh. "Roll on your side."

"You're a fucking cocktease."

"Flattery will get you nowhere." Steve slapped his thigh harder. "Over." 

In all honesty, Steve thought Bucky might refuse again. Instead he rolled onto his hip slowly, giving him a hurt look. "You're not even going to touch me?"

Bigger picture, Steve reminded himself. "Trust, Bucky."

Bucky nodded and closed his eyes. The request seemed out of place, even to Steve, but for once he was actually somewhat confident that he knew what he was doing. He'd had a lot of quiet nights by himself to read while Bucky was gone. One night he was reading stories from submissive's points of view, and long story short, the next day he bought his own plug to see if what the writer had said was true. The effect probably wasn't exactly the same, but now he knew it was safe and would hopefully get Bucky to the mental place he wanted. 

Well, and make him come like a man that's been deprived of pleasure for seventy years.

"Relax, Buck." Steve bent Bucky's leg at the knee, kissing his hip as he tilted him forward. "Would it help if I told you look hotter naked than I even thought possible?"

Bucky exhaled deeply, relaxing his muscles. "You gonna tell me I have a pretty prick?"

"Pricks aren't pretty," Steve stated. Though if he had to go by the few he'd seen in his life, in the army and through the wonders of modern technology, Bucky's would be the prettiest by far. Not too big, not too small, with just a few freckles for added character. Steve had to refocus his thoughts so he popped the top of his bottle of lube, squeezing a generous amount over his fingers. "Though, I will say that I'm having a hard time thinking about anything other than how it's gonna feel in my mouth later."

"Higher compliment than pretty," Bucky squeaked as Steve rubbed his slick fingers from his perineum to the little divot above his cheeks and back, gently massaging the entire area. "That's cold."

"Yeah, well, I gotta get in there." Steve smiled, watching Bucky's facial expressions and loving the little hitch in his breathing every time his finger pressed against his asshole. He stuck the plug under his leg to bring it up to body temperature, then spread Bucky's cheeks further apart. "You doing okay?"

"M'good," he sighed. "You can keep going." 

Steve hummed. Figuring out the angle he needed to go at was something he hadn't thought about. Not only was he inexperienced at doing most sexual activities with another person, but the limited knowledge he had acquired had been in the fucking dark. And he knew that wasn't what he would now think of as good sex. Bad sex was easy. Lazy. He wanted to be fucking great at it. If that meant seeming like a novice and asking for help so he could learn, then so be it. So, he slicked the the plug from the bulbous end to the tapered tip and asked Bucky to rate his efforts as he went.

Bucky scrunched his nose. "Like, on a scale of one to ten? Or ouch to oh fuck baby I need your dick in me right now?"

"One to ten is fine."

"You're no fun." Bucky grunted as Steve pressed the tip in. "Two." He tilted it just a little and met almost no resistance this time. It was inside of him before Bucky could even say, "Ten, ten, ten."

Steve admired his work with a grin, pressing his thumb against the outer barrier of the toy. That made Bucky squirm. _Hot_. "Okay, on your back again." 

Bucky rolled over and shivered. "Okay."

"Are you having a cold day or a hot day?" Steve asked him, kissing along his hipbone and abdomen.

"Warm," Bucky murmured, eyes still closed. It seemed Steve had found a way of calming down Bucky's need to be contrary with him - shove something up with ass. What an excellent plan.

"Comfortable?" 

Bucky nodded, already starting to zone out on him.

"Good." Steve flicked Bucky's nipple with his tongue, toying it with it until it formed a tight little peak for him to latch his teeth onto. That spurred a whole body shiver. "Tell me something that you like, or that you think you would like."

 _(Please say being tied up, please say being tied up.)_  

"I uh, saw a girl get dragged around by her dom at the club one night by her hair. Got kinda jealous."

"Adding that to my mental list. What else?"

"Um." Bucky hissed as Steve took his nipple between his teeth again. "Okay, but please don't try to overanalyze this because no way in fucking hell should I like it..."

 _(Slight moment of panic.)_  

"But, so, sometimes I think about being held against my will," Bucky finished. "Not by just anybody, though. Only you."

Somewhere in heaven, a choir of angels sang the chorus of Hallelujah for one Steven Grant Rogers.

"So in this fantasy of yours..." Steve grinned and leaned over the left edge of his bed, digging under the mattress until he found another of his new acquisitions. "Do I get to tie you to the bed and do whatever I want to you?"

Steve reached for the matching strap under the other side of the mattress and snapped the thick strips of nylon together right above Bucky's head. His eyes shot open at the sound, just in time to see Steve adjusting the position of a carabiner with a leather cuff attached to it. "You fucking rigged your bed for bondage?!" 

"I like to plan ahead." Steve shrugged and settled his ass on Bucky's hips. He ignored the look of surprise, gently manipulating Bucky's right arm so he could loop the cuff around his wrist. "Problem?"

"No...problem. What do you have planned for me?" Bucky blinked rapidly, watching Steve bend and move his metal arm with as much care as he had the flesh one.

Steve allowed his fingers to linger a little longer than necessary after belting the cuff. The feel of vibranium under his fingertips reminded him of his shield, and for just a moment he missed it. That sentiment passed quickly. "I feel the need to remind you that you're much stronger than these restraints, if you think you need to get out of them."

Bucky narrowed his eyes. "You're leaving me here."

Steve pecked Bucky on the lips and hopped off the bed. "Not for long, I promise. I'm supposed to go running with Sam this morning."

"You kinky motherfucker," Bucky growled, but he didn't even pull at his restraints.

"One word and you're out."

Bucky slammed his head back on the mattress and said nothing.

 

* * *

 

He was already late by the time he made it to Sam's favorite running trail at Prospect Park, even having hightailed it at superhuman speed to get there. Luckily the exertion took his mind off of the man strapped to his bed - the _naked_  man strapped to his bed - enough to reduce most of his obvious signs of arousal by the time he attacked Sam with a bear hug.

"Missed you, pal," he said, slapping Sam on the back.

"You're late." Sam squeezed. "I missed you, too. Bucknasty's not coming?"

"No, ahhh," Steve laughed, nervously running his hand through his hair. The question shouldn't be funny, and yet... "He's not getting out of bed any time soon."

Sam scowled. "You know, his ass actually keeps pace with me, unlike somebody else I know. Would it have been so hard to get him up?"

Lord Jesus, Steve was going to die. "Can we just run, please? Thanks."

At least if Sam was behind him he wouldn't be able to see the near constant blushing of his cheeks every time Steve so much as thought about Bucky. Actually, Steve never really stopped running until he leapt up the stairs to his brownstone and flew through the front door. A small part of him panicked a little bit, worried that he'd come back to find Bucky in a horrible state of mind after being left by himself in such a vulnerable position, even though he'd given Bucky the opportunity to end this little game. He would feel better when he saw for himself. He just needed to _see_ him.

Pushing his bedroom door open, he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight that greeted him. Bucky was just as he'd left him, eyes closed and perfectly still other than a squirming leg. He had a full erection now, so engorged that it almost looked painful. Each squirm resulted in the deepening of the lines in his forehead. Looked like the plug did the trick. Steve sat cautiously at Bucky's hip. "Hey, Buck. You still with me?"

Bucky didn't open his eyes but nodded. "Bastard," he said weakly.

Steve smoothed Bucky's hair. "Not in the mood to beg anymore?"

"If that's what you want me to do." It took a lot of effort for Bucky to open his eyes and give Steve a glassy-eyed stare. "You want me to beg?"

"Not right now. How do you feel?"

Bucky squirmed again. "Overstimulated. Under-stimulated. Great. Like I'm dying."

And people say Steve's the dramatic one. Though if someone were to ask Steve how he was feeling at the moment, his answer would probably be the same. "Has anyone ever told you you're beautiful?"

"I don't remember."

"You are. And you're being so good." Steve kicked his shoes off and crawled onto the bed, wedging himself between Bucky's legs. The movement clearly shifted the angle of the plug still nestled inside of him because Bucky whimpered. Fuck, Steve was loving every second of this. He'd never considered himself a sadist but eh...maybe so. "Bucky. Ask me what I want."

Bucky gulped. "What do you want, sir?"

This 'sir' had no coy attitude or smirks to go with it. Finally. Steve was breaking through Bucky's walls, the walls that his friend probably didn't even realize he'd put up. "I want you to feel good," he said, then wrapped his hand around Bucky's neglected cock and squeezed.

"Ahhh, you make me feel good," he groaned in relief.

"I'm not done." Steve thumbed the streak of pre-cum from Bucky's slit, spreading it down his shaft for lubrication before he began stroking him. He was so hard that Steve could feel and see every vein and every ridge - that he was the one able to make Bucky feel this way made him lightheaded with power. "I want to make you come. Every day, maybe every hour, as much as I think you can handle. Wanna make you come so hard that-"

"I forget my own name?" Bucky quipped, clearly trying to hold on to some semblance of himself.

Steve fell forward on his elbow, growling in Bucky's face, "That you never forget mine again."

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. "Never again."

"You're mine." Steve spoke low and calm, amazed that his voice didn't crack. It wanted to. "Say it."

"I'm yours."

"No one will ever touch you again. No one will ever hurt you." Steve stroked him harder and faster. This time his only response was to nod his head furiously and jerk his hips. "Promise me you'll never go away again."

A tear rolled down Bucky's cheek. "Steve-"

"Promise me," Steve said, and this time his voice did crack.

"Pr-promise."

Steve didn't know how Bucky was holding on. No one was even touching him and he was about to lose it just from feeling Bucky in his hands and watching him fall apart just a few inches from his face. "It's okay to let go," he said, brushing his lips against Bucky's damp cheek. "Please?"

If he didn't know better, Steve would have thought Bucky was in pain. But that wasn't it at all. In the grand landscape of the world, it had been centuries since anyone had touched Steve intimately, but Bucky...at least no one had harmed Steve during that time. They were both starved for affection but Bucky needed this more than Steve did. 

"Okay, then." Steve smirked, twisting his wrist as he moved and bit down hard on Bucky's neck.

"Oh shit," Bucky gasped, spewing a litany of curses as he finally let go and shot his load all over Steve and himself like a goddamn grenade launcher. "Holy fucking mother of shit!"

And as soon as the swearing stopped, he became dangerously quiet. Steve finally let go of him, watching his reaction with concern. "Bucky?"

"Oh my God," was all he could say.

And then Bucky was shaking. Shit, why was he shaking? "Hey, hey," Steve murmured, bringing his hands up to Bucky's face...and shit again, he had cum on his hand and now it was on his cheek. Oh well, that's a problem for later. "Hey, you good?"

"Uh huh. Cold." Bucky exhaled and tried to wipe his cheek, forgetting he was still bound to the bed. "Did you just wipe splooge on my face?"

Steve snorted. "Sorry. You had me worried for a second. Stay there, I'll clean you up."

Bucky waved his bound hands in the air. "Stay here? Where ya think I'm going?"

One warm washcloth and two freed wrists later, Steve tucked Bucky back into bed under much protest. It was obvious he was cold and tired, and since Steve was still calling the shots here...

"Wait," Bucky whined. "What about you?"

"Sleep." Steve grinned. "We'll discuss that later."

They didn't actually discuss it later.

 

* * *

 

Two things of note - Bucky Barnes was a hornball. He also was not stupid. 

It only took two days and three blowjobs - which Steve was very proud of because that was only his second, third, and fourth time giving one - for Bucky to figure out that Steve was off limits to him. Bucky had also become off limits to everyone else, or, his body had. Neither Steve nor Bucky felt Natasha would complain, seeing as how she was dishing out the pain for free anyway. 

Keeping himself out of the sexual equation wasn't punishment. Steve was figuring out how masochists work - it wasn't always about physical pain. Find something they want, tease it in front of their face, and then refuse to let them have it...painless torture. And it was mutually beneficial since it forced Steve to learn how to be a good lover without worrying about being selfish. He was damn close to having a deadly case of blue balls, but that was just a price he'd have to pay to make their first time together fucking fantastic. 

Unfortunately, on the third day Bucky was about ready to fight him. Steve calmed him down by giving him a long, warm bath, complete with lavender scented bubbles and a scalp massage. And then he proceeded to eat him out until Bucky ripped the sheets and babbled in some combination of German and English. The German earned Bucky a sharp slap to his ass, so of course he continued speaking it. Old habits died hard, on both of their parts.

Day four, Bucky decided that clothes weren't necessary to their daily routine at home, and curled up in Steve's lap while he was trying to work. Steve ended up calling up Sam to get Bucky off his hands for the day. They had new sponsors they were trying to woo anyway, and Bucky's sad, pretty face was impossible to resist. Bucky hissed about it until Steve led him to his bedroom, picked out one of his more massive butt plugs, dressed him in nice clothes, fixed his hair, and sent him on his way with a pat on the butt.

"Tweety said I look nice," Bucky said upon his return. His eyes were red and he'd worried several waves of hair free from his ponytail.

Steve closed his laptop. "Good enough to eat."

"Well." Bucky peeled his clothes off in two seconds flat. "Okay then."

Just seven days, that was Steve's original hold out plan. He sorta hated himself for it, because hello, he could have been fucking Bucky this whole week. But he told himself to be strong, that waiting for it would just make it even more memorable and mind-blowing. He even managed to resist the urge to give in on day five, when Bucky was so desperate that he never got up from his hands and knees all day and practically drooled on Steve's legs as he begged permission to suck his cock.

 _Permission_. If Steve could say no to that then he could turn down any fucking thing in the world.

In the end, he was glad he said no. Bucky was not in a good place the following morning. Nothing drastic, just one of those days when his mind and body seemed to be on different wavelengths. He usually kept to himself when that happened. Steve gave him his space, catching up on errands he'd been neglecting and visiting Nat. He gave a weak excuse to Sam to get out of their plans that evening, wanting to be home after dark in case Bucky needed him. And for the first time that night, Bucky crawled under the covers and slept with his back pressed against Steve's. Touching, snuggling even, in his sleep was a dramatic step forward. 

Finally, a week had passed, but that morning Steve was met with Bucky's resting bitch face and a cell phone. "Sam said you canceled your training session."

Sam. Not Bird, or Woody Woodpecker, or some other ridiculous avian nickname. Bucky had called him Sam. That in itself was huge, but also probably meant he wasn't in the mood for jokes. Steve shrugged. "I can reschedule. Are you feeling better today?"

"I'm fine. He also said this is the third you've missed."

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. "I've been busy. Why does this bother you?"

He knew damn well why it bothered Bucky, and why it bothered Sam. It was like everyone around him was in on this little secret that they expected him to know, too - that his retirement and the charity and this quiet life with Bucky was only temporary. But he didn't want temporary. He just wanted to live the life that was robbed from him. The life he willingly gave away when he agreed to become a science experiment instead of a man but still clung to with quiet resolve.

Bucky glared at him. "Steve." 

"I'm tired of fighting." He sighed. "I just want to live without it for a little while."

"And you think I'm not tired of fighting?" Bucky asked. "You can escape for a while but it never really ends. Any day now you could get that call from Stark saying the world is gonna blow up or more aliens are doing whatever the _fuck_ it is aliens do when they come here. And you know what? The man hates me but I know that I'll still go and fight with him because I could save the whole goddamn planet and it still wouldn't make up for what I've done. Doesn't mean I won't try, though." 

"You wanna be Captain America?" Steve snapped. "It's yours."

"I don't want to be Captain fucking America. That shield is your burden, pal. I just don't wanna lose you because you got lazy and complacent while you were trying to pretend it's _not_." 

Steve needed coffee. It was too early for this shit. Also, he really hated to be wrong. "Okay, okay. You know I'm gonna follow your dumb ass wherever you go anyway," he muttered. "You're right."

"You're goddamn right I'm right." Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve's shoulders. Steve tucked his chin into Bucky's shoulder and let his friend hold him for the first time in - in...so many years. "I get it. You wanna be normal. I do, too. It's just easier to accept we're not."

Steve grunted. "We could run away, ya know. We've done it before."

"Only if you make an honest man out of me," Bucky joked, pushing away so he swat Steve on the chest. "Come on, old man. You're gonna be my sparring partner today."

"No," Steve said, shaking his head. "I don't fight with you. Sorry."

"It'll be fun, like when we were kids and I had to give you tips cause you kept getting your ass kicked." Bucky grinned, and it really was hard for Steve to say no to that smile. "We can push all the furniture to the walls and just brawl, mano a mano. Unless you're scared." 

"Ain't scared of you," Steve drawled playfully. "Alright, fine. But at least lemme get some fucking coffee first."

 

* * *

 

"Not that I'm complaining about the view because Steve, my guy, you look like a god or something. But I don't think we used to fight in our underwear..." 

"What? No, we did, we totally did. And besides, you have a tendency to rip fabric and I don't want you ruining my clothes." Steve smirked and surveyed their great room for any possible breakables that hadn't been moved away from the danger zone. The small area wasn't ideal for two superhumans to spar in, but going to an actual gym drew far too much attention to themselves. The Avengers had been granted amnesty before returning from Wakanda and Bucky had been pardoned of all crimes committed between 1945 to 2016, but Steve still preferred everyone keep a low profile unless it was for a good reason.

Speaking of low profile, Bucky's black boxer briefs hung very low on his hips and damn, he looked good without clothes on. Steve licked his lips and growled quietly. Bucky noticed. "It's distracting, is it not?"

Steve raised his eyes. "Battles are full of distractions. Ya know what's really distracting? Your hair."

Bucky twirled his fingers through his pigtails - _pigtails!_ \- and grinned. "Trust no one, Steve." 

"It looks ridiculous."

"You're only distracted because you're thinking about using them as handle bars later."

Goddammit, now Steve really was thinking about that.

Bucky rolled his shoulders. "So, what do we fight until?"

"Loss of consciousness," Steve answered, clearing his throat.

"That's hot." Bucky winked. "So what do I get when I win?"

Steve stretched his arms and back, trying to act casual. "You win, I'll fuck you today."

Yeah, the lack of clothes was definitely distracting. Staring very obviously at Steve's boxers, Bucky bit his bottom lip. "And if you win?"

"Then I fuck you _tonight_." Steve smiled sweetly.

"And they say romance is dead," Bucky said with a laugh. 

"You want romance, James?" Steve tried to sound smooth as hell, like he wasn't actually a huge dork trapped in an Adonis' body. The use of the name James made Bucky quirk his eyebrow dramatically. "Take you to the picture show, maybe get some shakes and go for a stroll by the water afterwards. If your Ma and Pa aren't home we could even neck on the couch a little." 

"Did I really sound like that?" Bucky pretended to gag.

"You sounded worse," Steve snarked. "At least I sound sincere."

"Yeah, well. _Gay_." 

Steve nodded. "I didn't know then. I guess I didn't even really know until just now."

"Oh, you thought it was just you? Don't flatter yourself, big guy. If T'Challa had been into dick I would have climbed him like a tree before I left Wakanda." Bucky laughed at Steve's shocked face and held his fists up. "Since we're doing impersonations - fight me."

"Okay." Steve shrugged and stood face to face with Bucky, shoving his shoulder. "There. Lemme have it now."

While the Winter Soldier never spoke and barely even blinked when fighting, Bucky Barnes was his usual chatty self. Not like either of their hits actually made an impact - they both blocked punches and kicks from each other with ease. At some point, someone would have to find a weakness. "So, what class did you cancel?"

"Muay Thai," Steve said, grunting in frustration at this seemingly pointless match. "Why?"

"Just curious. You should have started it, maybe you'd actually land a hit. Quit standing straight as a board, Jesus, I know you have better form than that."

Steve balked. "I am not -" His protest was interrupted by a punch to the jaw, luckily with a flesh hand instead of metal. It still stung for a second. He stretched his jaw, glaring silently at Bucky.

"I thought you'd...block...that?" One pigtail fell in his face as he tilted his head apologetically. "Maybe after you take Muay Thai you should try Aikido, the focus is more on defense-"

This time it was Bucky who was interrupted, by a backhanded slap to the face. His reaction time was quicker than Steve's, immediately retaliating with another punch. Steve sidestepped him easily, grabbing his wrist and twisting it behind Bucky's back until he felt a joint pop under his fingers. With his free hand Steve grabbed one of those ridiculous pigtails, yanking Bucky's head to the side. "Black belt." 

Bucky wiggled, Steve squeezed, and Bucky moaned. "Harder, Daddy."

"What the - hard limit!" Before Steve could push him away, Bucky swung his other arm backwards, grabbing Steve by the back of the neck. He twisted out of the grip, releasing Bucky's wrist and shoving him to the other side of the room.

Bucky shook his wrist. "Okay, one, we're fighting, not fucking. There are no hard limits in fighting. And two, your dick totally twitched when I said that and I'm about to kinkshame your ass."

"You think I can't talk and fight at the same time," Steve said indignantly. "And kinkshame my ass all you want, I'm not the one who looks like a little girl."

"You hurt my feelings, Daddy." Bucky pouted. "It twitched again."

Steve didn't fall for the trick, stopping Bucky's surprise kick and tossing him onto his back. The floor shook and even the appliances in the kitchen rattled when Bucky hit the floor but books in another room entirely literally tumbled to the floor when Steve pounced on top of him. They wrestled but Steve had the size advantage, quickly straddling Bucky. Steve pinned Bucky's arms under his knees and wrapped a hand around his neck. "Say uncle!"

Bucky grinned, wriggling beneath the heavy body on top of him. Apparently he wasn't lying about his sparring matches with Natasha - his erection jabbed against Steve's backside with every wiggle. "Hey Steve," he choked out. "I gotta secret."

"Bucky, give up."

"You got the best of me every once in a while when we were younger, remember?"

Steve clenched his jaw but loosened his grip just a touch so Bucky could speak. "Yeah. I remember."

Bucky laughed. "I used to let you win." 

Before Steve could choke the life out of that little fucker, Bucky jerked his hips and twisted his body, using the strength of his new arm to get Steve off of him. The rest was a blur, but Bucky definitely pulled some Natasha Romanoff-esque shit on him. Steve ended up on his knees with Bucky's legs around his neck in a triangle choke, his trapped arm flailing helplessly. He grunted in frustration, digging deep to power his way out but even Bucky's legs were freakishly strong. 

Spots and lines clouded his vision but he pushed again, fighting through the nausea and dizziness and sleep would be good, so good and so easy...

He lost.

 

* * *

 

"Steve."

"Steve."

"Steve."

He was sick, in one of those fever hazes that he used to have when he was still small and far from super. And Bucky was holding him tight, so tight. It would have been nice if Bucky had done that when they were younger. Boys just didn't think like that, though. Maybe Bucky would have. Bucky was great.

"Steve, m'sorry, wake up, sorry, sorry, Steve..."

Steve's eyes flew open. He'd been unconscious, not sick. Bucky did it. Bucky was _not_ great. He groaned and snuggled against the bare skin below his face, warm and smooth and firm. Bucky sucked but made for a very comfortable bed.

"I'm so sorry," Bucky repeated, squeezing even tighter. His artificial arm pressed a little too firmly against his ribs. And in an odd reversal of roles, Steve was hard and Bucky wasn't. "You were right. This is why we can't - it, it'll never happen again."

"Why're you apologizing?" Steve mumbled. "You won."

"I didn't stop soon enough, I was going to, but I didn't."

"I wouldn't have stopped till you were out." Steve tilted his head to rest his chin on Bucky's sternum. His friend - boyfriend, maybe? - was white as a ghost. "Hey whoa, what's going on?"

Bucky shivered. "You aren't a killer though, Steve. Maybe I still don't have enough control over myself."

"I'm not dead, am I? You did what you were supposed to do, no more, no less." Steve smiled at him. "Maybe I like that you didn't hold back. I'm proud of you. You won. You knew when to stop and second-guessed yourself anyway. Just like any of the rest of us would."

"Okay," Bucky said with a weak nod, releasing Steve from his grip to run his hands through his hair. The messy pigtails, blessedly, were removed. "I just...I thought you would win. I've hurt you enough, don't really wanna do it again."

"You didn't hurt me. No worries." Kissing Bucky's chest seemed as good a way of any to calm him down. That, and a joke. "You'd make a terrible dom, by the way. Can't feel bad about hurting someone if they ask for it."

Bucky chuckled. "A terrible sub, too, I'm guessing. Just saying."

"Hmm, yeah. But I like you just the way you are." Steve kissed his way up to Bucky's neck, licking a path from his collarbone to ear. The dizziness from losing consciousness had passed now. He was steady and very aware of the man below him. "Demanding. Insubordinate. Sarcastic. Insufferable. Mine."

There was a good chance Bucky would say something in response that would confirm one or all five of those traits. Steve didn't give him the chance, kissing him with more ferocity than he realized he had stored up inside of himself. Bucky didn't fight him, opening himself to Steve's tongue and teeth and raw emotion. That little bit of self-control he'd been clinging to was completely gone now - guess Bucky wasn't the only one that got turned on from hand to hand combat. "Buck," he breathed, only half ass breaking the kiss to do so.

"Mmm, why'd you stop?" Bucky's hands roamed and squeezed desperately over Steve's chest, like he'd been dying to get his paws on him the whole week, or probably much longer than that. 

"Where's your head? You good?" Steve asked, not giving him a chance to answer before diving back in. This felt right, maybe not on the floor after one of them just choked the other out - but they were kinky anyway so who really gave a shit about that - but them, they were right. No one else could understand them. The way their bodies worked, their minds, the fact that they still belonged together even though they didn't belong here. 

Bucky thrust his hips against Steve and friction, yes, friction was amazing and half-naked sparring was the best fucking idea Steve Rogers had ever had. "Bucky, answer me," Steve said. 

"Argh!" Bucky groaned, banging his head on the floor in frustration. "My head's in your pants, I gotta go find it now, bye."

"You're so fucking cheesy, I oughta just-"

"Just fuck my mouth so I'll shut up?" Bucky's eyes flashed. He grabbed one of Steve's hands, shoving his fingers deep in his mouth. "I know you've been thinking about it. I saw it on your face when I did this the first time," he mumbled, Steve's fingers heavy on his tongue. "You think you're the only one holding back? Been so good at following your little orders this week. Too good, right?"

Too good? He'd complained but never outright said no or did anything that would earn him some sort of reprimand. But Bucky loved punishment. _Fuck_. Steve jerked his hand away, grabbed Bucky's hair and dragged him forward. "I've been too nice to you, it seems." 

Bucky grinned, his lips shining with spit. His smile fell a little after Steve sharply pulled on his hair again. "You don't have to be. I can take it."

It sounded like something stupid, brave, tiny Steve had told Bucky once when he'd insisted he didn't need him by his side at all times to be his protector. In their life before the war, he'd pushed little pieces of Bucky away time and time again, only to realize later in life that he was a fucking idiot. He was tired of being an idiot and was done pushing Bucky away. 

Licking his lips anxiously, Steve rose to his knees, pulling Bucky with him until he was on all fours and Steve could tower over him. "Undress me," he said. It seemed silly considering he was only in a pair of boxer shorts, but he really wanted Bucky to do this. He still felt self-conscious about his body, but knew Bucky would hold a greater appreciation for it than he ever could. Well, _hoped_ he would.

"Jesus Christ the fuck," Bucky hissed as he slid Steve's boxers down one hip at a time.

Steve mumbled, "I know." The number of times he'd been asked if the serum enhanced "everything, wink wink" was innumerable. Every time Steve laughed and said no, but he wished it had. Every time Steve lied. He actually wish it hadn't.

Bucky looked back and forth between Steve's eyes and dick with his mouth agape because yes, it was fucking huge. "I, uh, forgot about this. This thing has been inside me? Fuck, did they give you horse serum?"

"You've got a big enough mouth, it should fit just fine," Steve replied. Bucky smirked. This seemed a lot easier after kicking each other's asses for some reason. "You gonna ask to suck it or not?"

"You liked that huh?" Sliding forward just a hair, Bucky nuzzled up against Steve's thigh. "Want me to ask all sweet if I can suck that monster cock of yours? Wanna fuck my throat till I'm gagging and can't breathe, then slap me for not trying hard enough until I finally learn? Please?"

Obviously Bucky'd already thought about this.  

Steve cupped Bucky's face, thumbing roughly over his parted lips. "Well. Yeah."

Bucky grinned, flicking his tongue out against Steve's cock, coming away with just a taste of the wetness pooling at the tip. He sighed, murmuring under his breath, "God bless America," and that was enough motivation to shut his smartass mouth up - Steve yanked Bucky towards him as he thrust his hips. The fucking needy sound that came from Bucky's throat when he slammed into it eased any concerns Steve might have had about being too rough with him.

Though he couldn't bring himself to slap him just yet, Steve gave Bucky everything else he'd wanted. He wasn't rough but he definitely wasn't gentle either, slowly moving inside Bucky's mouth until he felt resistance. With his hands clenched together in front of him, Bucky took it better than Steve thought he would. It had been so long and shit, it felt better now than he remembered. Every bump against the back of his throat made Bucky moan and drool and Steve wanted to find the words to encourage him but he honestly couldn't even yell for help if his balls were on fire.

Steve finally found his voice somewhat, a guttural "fuuuuuh" when Bucky's teeth accidentally scraped against his tender skin. Bucky snorted and did it again, harder this time, and Steve was really going to have to put a stop to this soon or he'd blow right there on the living room floor. "Okay, stop," he breathed out.

And of course Bucky looked up at him with a wicked gleam in his eyes and did it again. Gritting his teeth, Steve wiped up a line of spit from Bucky's chin and slid his hand under the waistband of Bucky's underwear. He worked his way between Bucky's cheeks, pressing firmly against his hole when he found it. "I said, stop that."

Bucky pouted, letting Steve's cock slip from his mouth. Steve rewarded him by teasing his hole further, until he got that little whimper he'd become mildly obsessed with as of late. He smiled. "See, I knew you could listen."

If Bucky had a smart remark, he kept it to himself. For a few seconds at least. "Buck," Steve said quietly. "Can we go to my room now?"

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "I haven't been fucked since 1944, Steve, what do you think?"

"I think you're impatient." 

"Says the fucking king of waiting too long for...everything."

"Guilty. Some things are worth waiting for, though." Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky's back and used his other hand to help hoist him into his arms. 

"Fuck," Bucky grunted. He wrapped his legs around Steve's waist, grinding his erection against the firm muscles there. "You're a sap. And a show off."

Steve tugged Bucky's bottom lip between his teeth, drawing him into a sloppy kiss as he kicked open his bedroom door. Okay, maybe he was a show off. Steve was giving himself mental high-fives all around. He certainly wasn't normally a smooth guy but somehow he felt like he was just on point in that moment - sliding Bucky's underwear off as he laid him on the bed, kissing him with confidence and passion and love, _fuck_ , love. 

"Roll over," Steve mumbled, shifting Bucky into the middle of the bed.

"Wait, just a-" Splaying his hands across Steve's chest, Bucky took a moment for himself to look and feel in what seemed like adoration. He pulled his left hand away, tracing the contours of Steve's body with his flesh one only. "Are you even real?" 

Steve tilted his head, unsure if the question was rhetorical or not. Bucky continued before he had to awkwardly ask to be certain. "I mean, I know you're here. We're here. But you're perfect. I stabbed you there," he said, touching Steve's shoulder and then his stomach. "And I shot you here. You don't even have a single scar on your body."

Superficial scars, no. Steve just wore his scars deeper than most people. Even they were slowly beginning to heal now, though. He smiled. "You just can't see them, Buck."

"Okay." Bucky scrunched his nose. "But you're still a perfect asshole."

"Hey, you too! Now roll over so I-"

"Don't even," Bucky warned. He flipped over quickly, resting on his knees and elbows. "I want you to ruin my asshole, not bask in its perfection."

That - yes. Steve could definitely do that. He quickly rummaged through his nightstand, cursing his overeager sex toy shopping because now there was so much shit in there that he couldn't even find the basics that he needed - the good lube that was expensive as hell and a condom.

"God, take forever, old man," Bucky chided.

"You know," Steve said, finally tossing his supplies on the bed, "sometimes I don't think you actually want me to be in charge."

"I'm a complicated man. Don't worry, we'll figure it out. Now get over here and boss me the fuck around." Bucky made a face at the condom, then grabbed it and flicked it back on the nightstand. 

"Um..."

"Latex. The smell triggers negative emotions for me. The doc's words, not mine. Just," Bucky sighed. "You know they tested me for everything imaginable in Wakanda and I'm good. Can we discuss other birth control options later?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "It was more for your benefit than mine. Me personally, I wouldn't want, ah..." 

"Cum in your ass?"

"Yes, I wouldn't want cum in my ass." 

"You're such a gentleman," Bucky purred. "I'll remember that if you ever let me fuck you."

 _Oh_. That sounded like a discussion for future Steve and Bucky. Present Steve and Bucky needed to shut the hell up and start fucking the way past Steve and Bucky should have done before any super serums or goddamn wars took over their lives. Steve walked on his knees across the bed, positioning himself directly behind Bucky. He caressed the curve of Bucky's ass with a gentility he didn't usually exhibit. "You talk too much."  

Bucky twisted his head around to give him a pointed look. "So shut me up."

Goddamn gag hard limit. Bucky wanted to get bossed around though, so Steve was going to do it. "Okay. From now on, don't speak unless spoken to. And keep your hands where they are. No touching."

Steve grabbed the lube, kissing Bucky on the hip as he squeezed a copious amount on his hands. He felt as impatient as Bucky acted but this, _this_ he swore to himself he would not rush. More than even his own enjoyment, he wanted Bucky to fucking love having him inside of him. Steve kissed a small scar on Bucky's lower back as he spread the liquid between his cheeks and began to gently spread him open with his index finger. Bucky gasped softly, so Steve kissed him again on yet another scar. 

If Steve's body was perfect in its lack of flaws, then the opposite was true for Bucky. He had countless marks on his body, even in places he might not have seen before. Steve wanted to map out every scar on Bucky's body and replace Hydra's claims with his own, wiping away the lasting damage little by little. He started with the little scar under his lips, sinking his teeth deep into the wrinkled skin. In response, Bucky growled and threw his hips back against Steve.

A small red circle was already on Bucky's back. His skin reacted quickly, but probably healed quickly too. "Do you bruise?" Steve asked him.

"Hmm, yeah," Bucky answered, throwing a little sigh in for punctuation. 

Perfect. Steve found the first scar again and bit down, sucking the skin in between his teeth until he thought a nice pretty hickey would appear. Again, Bucky thrust back against him and bit his hand to keep from swearing. Steve released the skin with a pop and admired his handiwork before licking the bruise, a form of apology for the damage he'd done.

But Bucky liked the damage. With every new bite his cries got more and more broken and his thrusts more desperate. By the time Steve squeezed a fourth finger inside him, his back was riddled with bruises and his cock leaked a line of fluid from himself to the duvet below him. The change in him was amazing, how quickly he'd gone from an instigating little shit to putty in his hands. Steve loved it. 

It was easy to forget his own needs when he got wrapped up in giving to someone else. Steve rested his forehead on Bucky's back to steady himself, breathing deeply and trying to draw this experience out as long as possible. But he could reasonably only hold out so long. He slowly withdrew his fingers amidst whines of protest below him. "Shoosh. On your back."

With a disgruntled huff Bucky fell on his side, wiggling until he was flat on his back. His hands were still clasped together in front of his face. Steve propped Bucky's feet on his thighs and motioned to his hands. "Hands above your head," he said, and reached for the lube bottle again. His hands shook as he liberally applied it to himself. A soft moan escaped Steve's lips as he stroked himself with Bucky spread in front of him, his fists gripping the bed and his pretty face flush with need. "Tell me if I need to stop, okay?"

Bucky nodded quickly so Steve wiped his hands on his discarded underwear and positioned himself at Bucky's entrance. God, he felt like a virgin on his wedding night, about to make sweet but lackluster love to his spouse for the first time. But it wasn't the first time, he had to tell himself, and it would be fucking awesome. 

He exhaled and slid his hips forward, watching in fascination as he guided the tip of his cock into Bucky's still impossibly tight hole. It might have taken five seconds or five minutes for him to finally bottom out. He almost couldn't breathe from the the overwhelming sensations taking over his body. If he had to choose a way to die, suffocating from being buried balls deep in Bucky Barnes would definitely be number one on his list, though. 

Bucky's face looked pained, his eyes squeezed shut and his lips in a tight line. When Steve bent forward to cradle Bucky's face, the movement made Bucky's eyes flutter. "Talk to me," Steve encouraged softly. "You good?"

He didn't voice his reply, just nodded and then nipped at Steve's wrist. Steve got the hint, dropping his teeth to Bucky's neck. A loud metallic scraping sound pierced his ears when Bucky groaned and dug his hands into the headboard.

"Buck. Tell me."

Bucky gritted his teeth. "Steve, I swear if you don't start moving I'm gonna flip you over and fuck you myself."

"Horrible sub," Steve muttered, skimming his lips over the expanse of scars over Bucky's left shoulder. Those were scars he wasn't willing to inflict any further damage to. Instead he sucked and bit on his rounded pec.

"Horrible dom," Bucky countered. He jerked his hips and moaned softly. "A good dom would have slapped me for a comment like that."

"Don't tempt me."

"Or what?" Bucky asked. It appeared that forming sentences at all was a struggle, but of course he could still be a wise ass. "You'll give me a little love tap? My sweet little ass might even be pink for-" 

Steve clamped his hand over Bucky's mouth and withdrew almost entirely before slamming back inside of him. The muffled scream under his palm was still loud enough to cover the wrecked moan that Steve couldn't hold back. Holy fuck, it felt amazing. He dropped a kiss to the new bruise on Bucky's chest and asked, "Did that hurt?"

Bucky nodded yes.

Steve winced. "Do you want to stop?"

Bucky violently shook his head no.

So, Steve was obviously a superhuman - technically, Bucky too - and probably had superhuman stamina, because there was no fucking way a normal person could go as long as he had without having sex and not had an orgasm on that second thrust. Bucky screamed under his hand again and that uncontrolled release was actually ten times better than his little whimpers. Again, and again, and again, and at one point the headboard actually cracked under the pressure of Bucky's grip but he didn't care. 

Steve continued his bruising kisses, covering Bucky's chest and upper abdomen to match his back, and fucked him so hard that he feared the bed would physically shatter under the force. They were sweaty. His brain was fuzzy. The muscles in his back and legs began to tense. He knew he was close and figured Bucky was barely hanging on by a thread by this point, so he freed Bucky's mouth from his grasp and wrapped his hand around his cock instead. Bucky was so far gone that he couldn't even make a sound when Steve pumped him once, twice, three times before he came all over red marks on his stomach. 

So caught up in Bucky's orgasm, Steve pushed deep into him for a kiss, nearly bending him in half. Bucky gasped, his eyes rolling back into his head, and that was it - Steve held on for dear life and tumbled over with him. It was an everlasting release, like he was literally going to keep coming until he died from a heart attack or dehydration, whichever happened first. He dropped his head to Bucky's cool shoulder, willing the slowing spasms to just stop attacking his body already. A minute or two passed before he found his words again. "That," he breathed, "I mean, you. Felt. Wow."

Bucky sort of chuckled, then groaned in disgust. The laugh pushed the rest of Steve out of him, and it wasn't a pleasant sensation apparently. "I was about to agree but the wow factor is dropping. Oh God, it's coming out." He visibly clenched. "You were right, fucking hell, I don't like cum in my ass."

"I used to pull out," Steve mumbled, his head still buried on Bucky's shoulder. "During the war. Wise choice, I guess. They make lambskin condoms. I can pick some up, if this is, ya know, what you want."

"Don't be a fucking idiot, Steve." Bucky finally let go of the cracked headboard to wrap his arms around Steve. "I'm...happy," he said, as if happiness was some sort of grand revelation he wasn't expecting to ever understand. 

"Me too, Buck." Steve closed his eyes, enjoying the relatively quiet moment of intimacy between them. Bucky, happy? That made Steve even happier than he already was. "Me too."

Then the bed broke.

 

* * *

 

 

Shopping for bedroom furniture seemed frighteningly domestic, like something an old married couple would do after they finished tending to their garden and partaking in afternoon tea. The traditional appearance didn't remain long, not when one half of the couple was an idiot with a man bun and a giant hickey on his neck that approached a sales woman with the question, "Got any reinforced beds that would be good for bondage?"

Steve was pretty sure Bucky was walking bowlegged on purpose, too. Idiot. At least the weather had turned cool enough that his wardrobe changed from tanks and leggings to hoodies and skinny jeans. That was a pretty good look for him, actually.

Their walks from store to store were filled with sexual conversations and questions, most of which consisted of Bucky just trying to get a figurative and literal rise out of Steve. 

 

_Does the kink store sell beds? (No)_

_Ever seen shibari? (Yes)_

_Collars, yes/no? (I'd like you to have one eventually)_

_Can we start a list off all the shit I wanna do? (Already started one, you should download the wunderlist app)_

 

And that's why they were arguing that day when they met up with Sam for Steve's usual Sunday lunch date. Sam was confused not only by Bucky's presence but also by the immediate silence when he approached the table. 

"Hi...guys." Sam narrowed his eyes. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," Steve answered, but Bucky replied, "We were arguing," at the same time.

Sam ignored Steve and turned his chair towards Bucky. "Whatcha arguing about?"

Steve shot both of them a look. "We weren't arguing."

"Steve won't let me eat his ass," Bucky answered matter-of-factly. 

"Bucky!" 

Sam blinked. "Did you just fuckin' say..."

"What?" Bucky laughed. "I wanna know what-"

"Don't say it."

"-freedom tastes like," Bucky finished.

Sam blinked again, visibly processing this conversation. "Well, you can't eat mine, either."

And holy shit, Bucky actually blushed. Steve had to give it to Sam, the man could handle Bucky with greater ease than he could. "So, um, guess the cat's out of the bag now." 

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I'm gonna keep any comments about the actual lack of pussies, in or out of bags, around any of us these days to myself. Congrats on the sex anyway."

"We broke the bed," Bucky said proudly.

"Of course you did." Sam pursed his lips at Steve. "Thought you said it 'wasn't like that', huh? Ol' Buckboi broke you down. This is good. This is great, actually. You assholes won't be moping around anymore and we'll get some hella good publicity."

"Publicity?" Steve frowned. "No."

"Yes, publicity. You're a public figure, running a non-profit charity. You're the face of America. The only thing more exciting than a gay Captain America would be a black Captain America."

Bucky held a finger up to say something but the server came over to take their orders. Steve didn't give him a chance to speak after they ordered, saying sincerely to Sam, "You'd make a great Cap, Sam. If you want it, it's yours." 

"Nah, man, there's only one real Cap," Sam responded. "But thanks anyway."

"Wait for it," Bucky muttered under his breath.

Steve took a sip of his water, swallowing it with a hiss. "Also, I'm not gay."

Bucky smirked. "There it is."

"Your _boyfriend_ was just talking about eating your ass." Sam shrugged. "That's pretty fucking gay, Steve." 

If one more person...no. Steve sat up straight as a board in his seat. "There is such a thing," he said, his voice getting higher and louder with each word, "as bisexuality!"

A lone patron on the other side of the room clapped loudly, until they realized they were the only one praising the red-faced Captain America in the suddenly silent restaurant. Apparently Steve had been louder than he thought. Sam and Bucky stared at him expectantly, waiting on an explanation for his outburst. "Sorry," he said.

Sam nodded for Steve to continue, so he did. It's taken him a long time to sort this out for himself, and he wanted to at least try to make his best friends understand. "Just. Don't invalidate my feelings for Peggy. It wasn't confusion, it was real. I'm not confused now, either. Sorry I can't fit into one of society's pretty labeled boxes, but let's be honest, when have I ever?"

"That's why we love you," Bucky said, kicking him under the table.

Sam clapped Steve on the shoulder. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but...I agree with Bucky." He shuddered jokingly. "Sorry for assuming you were as basic as your boyfriend."

Bucky guffawed. "The fuck, when did homosexual become basic?"

"I wasn't talking about your homosexuality," Sam snarked.

"I hate you," Bucky grumbled. "Go hunt a squirrel or something."

Steve snapped his fingers in Bucky's face. "Quit flirting with Sam," he teased. 

"Ugh gross, I fucking hate you, too."

Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably. "So yeah, Cap, tits? You're a fan, then?"

"Love em." Steve pointed to a surly Bucky. "If he had tits he'd be perfect."

"It just got weird." Sam winced. "And this conversation started with eating ass."

Their food arrived. Sam and Steve dug in but Bucky crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm never going to fucking Sunday brunch with you two ever again."

 

* * *

 

After a great deal of searching, Steve and Bucky decided the best plan was to build their own bed. Steve designed it, Bucky agreed to most of the hard labor, and they got straight to work after consulting with a slightly flabbergasted craftsman. They weren't the first couple to design a bed for bondage, but the man turned pale as a ghost when the two very large men started discussing options stronger than steel reinforcement with him.

This bed was going to be intense as hell, too - a full canopy bed, with a St. Andrew's cross attached to the foot of it and restraint hoops hung from the rails at each corner. The head and foot boards each had their own loops as well. They even chose a new mattress and bedding, the firmest available for the mattress and the fluffiest for the bedding. It was a compromise, and Steve would suffer being hot under clouds of down if it meant Bucky was warm.

A few days into the project, Bucky was in a constant state of annoyance and Steve didn't even regret having to leave him for a few days to go to Washington. They were attached at the hip now, literally, and a few days apart turned out to be good for Steve's sanity. He wanted nothing more than Bucky's snark and insatiable horniness by the time he finally got home after a delayed flight and rush hour traffic.

Their home was quiet, a little too quiet for this time of day. "Buck?" Steve called out. "I'm back, you here?"

"Your room!" Bucky yelled back.

If Bucky was still dog-cussing this goddamn bed, Steve's excitement would be short-lived. But there was no swearing coming from his room, just peaceful silence. When he walked into his room, the change slapped him in the face. No more supplies or wood or metal scattered across the floor. The room was clean, and the largest bed he'd ever seen sat in the middle of it.

Steve's attention wasn't so much on the bed, however, as it was on the man hanging from it by leather wrist cuffs. Honestly, Bucky had never looked fucking hotter in his life. His hair hung in loose waves down to his bare shoulders, and he wore nothing but what looked like one of Steve's pairs of jeans. Well, Bucky _did_ hate to do laundry. Steve swallowed hard and tried not to die on the spot. "Hi."

Bucky swung to face him, the suspension cuffs twisting tighter on his wrists. He smiled almost sheepishly, probably because hello, he had managed to cuff himself to a bed and had been hanging there for God knows how long waiting on Steve to come home. "I built the bed." 

"I see that." Steve dropped his bag by the door and pretended to inspect the bed, but really his attention remained focused on Bucky.

"Still need to add the cross, but I wanted to check the structural sturdiness first." 

Well, that explained the best welcome home surprise ever. Hopefully he hadn't been forced to wait too long. Bucky's position looked uncomfortable but he seemed quite content right where he was. Steve wanted to touch him, to strip him, to - he gasped, realizing exactly what Bucky had planned and wanted from this little show. The flogger that had previously been tucked away in his closet had been hung from one of the loops on the headboard. 

Okay, no more delaying. This was really going to happen. _Now_. 

Steve chewed on his lip, running his hands carefully from Bucky's torso up his arms to the cuffs. "How did you manage to do this by yourself?"

"Teeth and flexible fingers," Bucky answered, his eyes following Steve's hands from his wrists to his shoulders. Steve gripped them and flipped him around, lightly scratching nails down his back. A little trail of goosebumps followed the lines of pink. Bucky sighed and just slightly rutted against the edge of the mattress, earning himself a little swat on the ass.

"So eager," Steve chided. 

"Sorry, sir."

Steve's face flushed. "Maybe I should make you wait a little longer," he said, knowing full fucking well there was no way that would happen. 

"If that's what you want."

"Eh, that's not what I want," Steve confessed. "I wanna thank you for all of your hard work. It's awesome." 

Bucky smiled. "Thought you might."

Steve's hands settled on the top of Bucky's jeans, really _his_ jeans. They were loose around the waist and hips, falling easily to the ground with just a push. "How would you like me to thank you?" he asked, bending down to slide the pants over Bucky's feet.

Clearing his throat, Bucky looked down at Steve. "You don't know?"

"Oh, I know," Steve scoffed. He inspected Bucky's underwear as he pulled them down to his ankles - plaid boxers, a little too loose, and definitely belonging to Steve. He'd be annoyed if he didn't find it endearing and a little sexy. "Hmm. I kinda just wanna hear you tell me."

"Ah, of course." Bucky tried to twist around again but Steve planted his hands on either hip, holding him in place. And maybe teased him, just the tiniest bit ever, by accidentally pushing the poor (lucky?) guy's erection against the mattress again. 

Besides, Steve was pretty sure that being a bit of an asshole was a desired trait in a dom. 

Standing up, Steve took a step back and just admired his toy for the evening. Holy shit, he was so happy the universe finally aligned in their favor and allowed them to be together like this. Really, he was just happy all-around. And having way too much fun watching Bucky squirm. He crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm waiting..."

Bucky sighed. "I would like to formally request that Steven Grant Rogers, alias Captain Douchebag, please beat the ever loving shit out of me. _Sir_."

"Well, since you asked so nicely." Steve rolled his eyes. He grabbed the flogger, twirling the suede tails between his fingers. Practicing with this thing against a towel was a hell of a lot different than using it on his boyfriend. Shit, he'd put a hole in the wall the first time he wielded that damn thing. "I've never actually hit another person with this. You're my first." 

"Given the history of our relationship, that seems fitting, don't you think?"

"That's a good point." At least one positive about Steve losing his flogging virginity to Bucky - this wasn't new to him at all. Bucky had spent more time in this environment than Steve had and that experience calmed his nerves a little bit. Sucking in a deep breath, he released the tails from his fingers and trailed them over Bucky's shoulders and back. Just a light tickle. "Are you comfortable? Circulation good?"

Bucky nodded. "Left arm is fine. If I start flexing my fingers on my right, I'm getting uncomfortable."

"Okay. Do you remember your safe word?"

"I won't use it," Bucky remarked.

Steve stilled. "Safe. Word."

"Luna." Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve couldn't see it, he just knew.  

He needed a few practice hits first, to loosen both of them up and check his aim. And, a flogger wasn't like a whip - he was supposed to be build it up gently, not just immediately beat the shit out of the man. Steve felt like he needed to watch one more YouTube video on BDSM for beginners, but fuck it, too late now. He stood up straight, feet apart, and raised his arm, holding the handle in one hand and the tips of the tails in the other.  

Breath in, out, and drop.

The tips landed square on the back of Bucky's shoulder and glided down, just like they were supposed to. "I'll be damned," Steve muttered.

"Good aim," Bucky said.

"Thanks." Steve smiled, because shouldn't he be the one giving praise in this arrangement? Whatever. They could do it however the hell the wanted. This time he aimed for the other shoulder, though most of it was metal. Same result, and not a negative word from Bucky. Okay then.

Keeping his same stance, Steve swung with a lot more force. The leather tails painted pale pink streaks on Bucky's skin. He was actually proud of himself for a second, up until Bucky raised his head to comment, "The Widow hits harder than you."

Steve frowned and swung three times in quick succession, one on his upper back and two on his ass. And again, the lines of pink glowed beautifully on Bucky's skin. Especially on his butt, one of the few pale parts of his body. "You were saying?"

"Sorry." Bucky licked his lips. "I meant to say Sam probably hits harder than you."

That little fucker. Steve didn't hold back this time, landing six blows on his back and then six on his ass. He waited for Bucky to suck in a deep breath, then did it again. Another quick gasp and another twelve hits just on his back. Steve's eyes were as wide as his smile. Fuck, that was fun.

He regretted not investing in a paddle. Hmm, maybe next time.  

A slight flexing of fingers caught his eye, so he tossed the flogger on the bed. The pink stripes on Bucky's back were red splotches now. Steve wished Bucky could actually see them for himself. The only noticeable change Steve saw in his demeanor was heavier than normal breathing. He even had a smile on his face. 

"You good?" Steve asked as he unclasped the cuffs from the bed. Bucky caught his hands before they landed on the mattress, bending his elbows back and forth. His wrists were still buckled together, and Steve planned to keep them that way.

"Very," Bucky answered. "You're actually really good at that, you got a paddle or a cane hidden in here somewhere, too?"

"Baby steps." Steve tugged his shirt over his head and pressed his chest to Bucky's back. His skin was hot to the the touch. Bucky hissed at the contact but sighed happily when Steve brushed the hair off his shoulders, then proceeded to plant kisses over his neck and upper back. Steve murmured against his skin, "Want more?" 

"Hell yeah."

Steve cleared his throat loudly.

"Sir," Bucky said, pointedly. "I could probably come just from that," he nodded to the flogger, "if you did it long enough."

"Lucky you." Steve kissed his shoulder before pushing away. He ran his hands up and down Bucky's back, then grabbed the flogger with a devilish smile. "Cause I could do this all day."

 

* * *

 

Steve squinted, because even with his supposed heightened senses, he couldn't see for shit in this dark ass club. Which seemed like a bit of a safety hazard to him, given that some guy was flogging a beautiful, barely dressed brunette with a cat-o-nine-tails just a few feet away. He allowed himself to watch for a second, partly to observe technique and partly because she was really fucking hot. Yes, he was definitely bisexual.

Where was he? Right. Squinting. Bucky. "Are you wearing eyeliner?" Steve asked. He had to admit, it was a good look for him. If only there were lights.

Bucky winked with a smile, but Natasha answered for him. "Isn't he pretty?"

"Lovely," Sam snarked, fingering the white ribbon on his arm. "How the fuck did I end up on Satan's playground with you people?"

"You said you wanted to hang out. We said we were going out. You said I'm down," Steve summarized distractedly, ignoring Sam's glare about his obviously rhetorical question. His eyes were still on Bucky. Nat had done a great job dressing him - his hair was down and shiny, the gray shirt hugged his muscles, and his black jeans were just...good, great, excellent.

They hadn't come to the club as a group. Natasha insisted on beautifying Bucky for the night since it was his and Steve's first time visiting the club together. Sam had no idea what he was getting into, but that made the experience all the more entertaining. They'd all been virgins once, after all. 

Bucky gravitated wordlessly towards Steve, and Sam's chatter and Nat's literal explanations of their surroundings faded into the background. Steve gripped him by the neck, pulling him in for a quick but passionate kiss.

"You look hot," Bucky said, licking his lips. He glanced up and down. "All black. I approve."

Running a thumb over Bucky's cheekbone, Steve inspected his face further. "I approve of the eyeliner. Think it'll smear?"

"Might, if I cried or something." Bucky's eyes flashed deviously.

Steve smiled and rubbed his fingers over the light scruff of Bucky's jaw, earning a hum of approval from his partner. Then he pulled away, flexed his fingers, and slapped Bucky with all of his force across the cheek.

"Oh shit!" Sam shouted, staring open-mouthed at them. Natasha gave Steve a subtle thumbs up.

Bucky laughed and flexed his jaw. "Damn. Been saving that up a while?"

Steve shrugged, then fisted his fingers in Bucky's hair. He yanked him so hard that Bucky stumbled, barely catching his fall with his fingertips. But this was what Bucky wanted, right? Being dragged across the main floor by his hair for every dom and sub at The 8th Circle to see, grinning through the pain because he wasn't just some poor guy out of place in the world anymore. Bucky was something to someone now, Steve, and it didn't matter that this show of possession might seem cruel or disgusting to most people because it was important to _them_.

And it empowered Steve, too, seeing the appreciative looks at his ease of manhandling two-hundred pounds of former assassin/current loving, kind, funny smartass. This arrangement of theirs would have been unacceptable in _their_ time - the current happiness they had couldn't erase the damage those seventy years had done, but it went a long way towards helping them forget it.

Sam and Natasha followed them, with Sam sticking as close to Nat as possible. On the elevator ride to the upper level, Bucky stayed on the floor but raised his chin, mouthing "thank you" to Steve. 

"You're fine, Wilson," Natasha grunted, shooing Sam from her personal space. "You really don't have a kinky bone in your body, do you?"

"Hey, I can be kinky," Sam insisted. "I've done anal, more than once."

Natasha smiled. "Adorable."

Bucky rolled his eyes, though no one else could see them. "I had anal sex this morning."

"Me too," Steve said, ushering them to an empty table. Sam clearly needed a few more minutes to acclimate to his surroundings. Unlike Steve's first visit here, Sam's eyes were basically fifty shades of "keep me the fuck away from that fat man in assless pants."

"Don't judge the straight guy, you kinky fuckers." Sam glared at them as they settled into their seats. "Though I gotta admit, slapping Barnes like that had to have been hella satisfying."

"Hands off," Steve joked, pulling Bucky into his lap. "He belongs to me."

Bucky only had eyes for Steve, despite the banter at the table. "И ты принадлежишь мне," he said, twitching his nose.

Cocking his head curiously, Steve narrowed his eyes. Bucky nodded because, yes, that was the phrase Steve butchered in Russian the night Natasha had brought him here the first time - _you belong to me_. He had to laugh at how something that, at the time, seemed so trivial had managed to bring them to this point right here. It was all perfectly clear now.

They belonged to each other.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely not my first fan fic, but my first in this fandom. If you made it this far, thanks for reading!
> 
> Come see me on [tumblr](http://anthonystan.tumblr.com), I like pretty people and kinky people. Obviously.


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